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10 Milk Street next Old South Meeting-House 



STORIES 

OF 



THE CIVIL WAR 



BY 

ALBERT F. BLAISDELL 

AUTHOR OF «« THE STUDV OK THE ENGLISH CLASSICS," "CHILD'S BOOK OF 

HEALTH," '« HOW TO KEEP WELL," " OUR BODIES AND HOW WE 

LIVE," "FIKbT STEPS WITH AMERICAN AND ENGLISH 

AUTHOKS," " READINGS FROM THE 

WAVERLEY NOVELS," ETC. 




BOSTON MDCCCXC 
LEE AND SHEPARD PUBLISHERS 

10 MILK STREET NEXT " THE OLD SOUTH MEETING HOUSE " 

NEW YORK CHAS. T. DILLINGHAM 

71S AND 720 BROADWAY 






Copyright, 1890, by Lee and Shepard. 

3 OF THE CIVIL WAR 



S. J. PARKHILL & CO., rRINTEAS 
BOSTON 



^ 

X 






PREFACE 



This is a book of stories about the Civil War. It 
is not a history — only a book of stories edited for 
school and home use. Our aim has not been to crowd 
the mind with facts, but to arouse in the younger 
generation a lively interest in the brave men who 
fought in the war for the Union. 

We have tried to present a series of pictures of 
our national life during the late war, around which a 
fuller knowledge of the course of its history may 
gather. 

These stories are designed to interest as well as to 
instruct young people, and to excite in their minds 
a keen desire to know more of the noble deeds of 
their fathers and grandfathers, who sacrificed so much 
during this momentous period of our country's history. 

In making selections from the great mass of books 



4 PREFACE 

about the war, we have kept in mind these three 
points : 

First, to make such selections as are interesting, 
graphic, and founded on fact. 

Second, to select those written by men who person- 
ally took part in the scenes which they describe. 

Third, to prepare such pieces as will arouse a greater 
love and reverence for those who fought, bled, and 
died, that we, as a people, might live to-day in peace 
and prosperity. 

The stories are written in a lively and attractive 
style, and in very simple language. In many of them 
a graphic style and terse diction will more than make 
up for any lack of rhetorical finish. 

The thanks of the editor are due to Messrs. D. Apple- 
ton & Co. ; Fords, Howard, & Hulbert ; T. Y. Crowell 
& Co. ; Charles L. Webster & Co. ; and to the Pub- 
lishers of the Youth's Companion, for kind permission 
to use selections from their copyrighted authors. 

ALBERT F. BLAISDELL. 

July, 1890. 



CONTENTS 



CHAPTER PAGE 

I. The Nation's Peril 7 

II. The Bombardment of Fort Sumter . . . .11 

III. Sunday in Norwood after the Fall of Fort 

Sumter 16 

IV. Battle-Hymn of the Republic 23 

V. The Death of Colonel Ellsworth .... 25 

VI. Under Fire for the First Time .... 28 

VII. Little Eddie the Drummer Boy .... 36 

VIII. The Combat between the Monitor and Merrimac , 42 

IX. A Thrilling Experience in an Army Balloon . 47 

X. A Pen Picture of Abraham Lincoln ... 54 
XL How A Boy helped General McClellan win a 

Battle 62 

XII. Old Abe, the Soldier Bird 68 

XIII. A Boy's Experience at the Battle of Freder- 

icksburg 74 

XIV. The Story of Sheridan's Famous Ride ... 82 
XV. The Cavalry Charge 89 

XVI. The Destruction of the Albemarle ... 93 

XVII. The Final Struggle at Gettysburg ... 99 

XVIII. Lincoln's Gettysburg Speech 105 

XIX. The Black Regiment 109 



6 CONTENTS 

CHAPTER PAGE 

XX. Two Scouts who had Nerves of Steel . .113 

XXI. The Clothes-Line Telegraph 120 

XXII. Combat between the Kearsarge and Alabama, 124 

XXIII. The Message of Life 129 

XXIV. Sherman starts on his March to the Sea . 138 
XXV. Sherman's March to the Sea . . . .144 

XXVI. The Perils of a Spy's Life 146 

XXVII. How Admiral Farragut was lashed to the 

Rigging 154 

XXVIII. The Horrors of Andersonville Prison . . 158 

XXIX. The Heroism of Rebecca Wright . . . 164 

XXX. The Fortunes of War 169 

XXXI. Barter and Trade in Andersonville Prison . 178 

XXXII. Bread cast upon the Waters . . . .182 

XXXIII. The Surrender of General Lee. . . .187 

XXXIV. The Grand Review in Washington . at the 

Close of the War . ... . .193 

XXXV. Running the Blockade 197 

XXXVI. Boys in the Late War 208 

XXXVII. How They Lived in the South during the 

War . . 216 

XXXVIII. Foes become Friends 222 

XXXIX. The Blue and the Gray 230 

XL. The Brave Men who fought for the Union . 233 

XLI. Memorial Day 237 

XLII. Ode for Memorial Day 242 



STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 



THE NATION'S PERIL 



Thirty years ago there took place, in this country, 
one of the most exciting political campaigns in Ameri- 
can history. Abraham Lincoln, the candidate of the 
Republican party, was elected President of the United 
States on November 6, i860. 

A large book would not suffice to give the young 
student the full history of this campaign and the memor- 
able events which followed during the next six months. 
It was the culmination of affairs which had taken place 
during the half-century before. It was the outburst of 
a storm which had been brewing for many long years. 
Wise statesmen of a former generation had foreseen, 
with mingled sorrow and dismay, just such a crisis in 
our country's history. The deep-seated cause, of which 
a long and costly war was the natural result, is a subject 
for earnest study in connection with the formal history 
of the United States. It does not come v/ithin the 
scope of this book. 



8 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

As soon as the election of Lincoln was announced, 
men of extreme views at the South proceeded at once 
to carry out their threats of attempting to withdraw 
from the Union. Seven States seceded, at intervals 
more or less brief, from the Union, and organized what 
was known as the Southern Confederacy. Four States 
seceded later. The people at the North were amazed 
at the rapidity with which the organization against the 
national government established itself. The humiliat- 
ing events of that dread winter of 1860-61 are a part of 
our history. The government at Washington stood as 
if paralyzed. The President was a weak, old man, and 
did not know what to do. Most of his cabinet officers 
were friendly to the South, and took advantage of their 
official positions to allow the enemies of the country to 
take possession of the national stores, arms, arsenals, 
forts, and navy yards, within the limits of the seceding 
States. The government did not even dare to send 
re-enforcements to the forts along the southern seacoast 
lest such action should precipitate a civil war. This 
weak and irresolute action gave the seceding States 
ample opportunity to prepare for the coming strife at 
the expense of the nation. This cost the country many 
millions of dollars and thousands of lives to regain dur- 
ing the next four years. 



THE NATION S PERIL 9 

Such, briefly, was the condition of the country when 
Abraham Lincoln, fearful of life, came to Washington 
in March, 1861, and quietly took the reins of the gov- 
ernment. How little could the good President, or even 
the wisest of his advisers, realize the overwhelming 
responsibility of his position. 

With the stirring events which followed we are 
familiar. The story of how Major Anderson removed 
his little band of United States troops from Fort Moul- 
trie to Fort Sumter, in Charleston harbor, for greater 
safety, is a familiar one ; likewise, how the Confederates 
fired upon a vessel sent with supplies intended for it ; 
and, finally, after a severe bombardment, how they com- 
pelled the fort to surrender. Forbearance had ceased 
to be a virtue. It was seen even by the most timid and 
conservative that something must be done at once to 
assert the majesty and power of the national govern- 
ment. President Lincoln acted resolutely and promptly. 
On the 15th of April, 1861, he issued a proclamation 
calling out seventy-five thousand militia, for three months, 
to suppress the rebellion. 

The people of the North answered promptly and 
vigorously to the dry and formal words of the proclama- 
tion. No one had suspected how deep in the hearts 
of the people was the sentiment of patriotism. The 



10 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

lowering of the flag at Fort Sumter pierced the pride 
and the honor of the North to the quick. The morn- 
ing and evening of a single day saw peace utterly laid 
aside, and twenty millions of people filled with the spirit 
of war. 

The same scenes were at the same time occurring in 
the Southern States. Even more fiery was the out- 
break, because the people were of more demonstrative 
natures. 

And thus it came to pass that thirty millions of 
people, divided into two bands, went seeking each 
other through the darkness and mystery of war. 



BOMBARDMENT OF FORT SUMTER II 



II 

THE BOMBARDMENT OF FORT SUMTER 

[The Story as told by an Eye-witness.'] 

It was already near morning (April 12, 1861). The 
east was changing, and a faint twilight came stealing 
over the harbor (Charleston), every moment growing 
brighter. At no moment of the day has light such an 
enchanting effect as between twilight and sunrise. 
Everything has a freshness, an unworn and pure look, 
as if it had just been created. A light film of mist lay 
along the rim of the harbor ; but within that silver set- 
ting the water lay dark and palpitating. Out of its 
bosom rose Fort Sumter, sheer from the water, which 
lapped its very base on every side. How serene and 
secure the fort looked ! How beautifully the morning 
brightened around it, though as yet the sun rose far 
down below the sea. 

I was startled by the roar of a mortar a little be- 
hind me. Out of its white smoke rose, with graceful 
curve, a bomb that hurtled through the air and burst 
above the fort. 



12 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

" May violence overtake the wretch, and a disgrace- 
ful death ! " I did not know that it was my own State 
that broke the peace. Edmund Ruffin it was, an old 
man with white hair that hung down in profusion over 
his shoulders, and was now flying wild, his eyes bright 
with an excitement either of fanaticism or insanity. 

This single shot given, there was a dead pause for a 
moment or two. A flock of wild ducks, startled from 
their feeding-ground, flew swiftly along the face of the 
water, and were lost behind the fort. The peace was 
gone. This tranquil harbor was changed to a volcano. 
Jetting forth from around its sides came tongues of 
fire, wrapped in smoke, and the air was streaked with 
missiles converging from every side and meeting at 
Sumter. Now that the circle was once on fire it flamed 
incessantly. Gun followed gun — battery answered bat- 
tery — and the earth fairly trembled with the explosions. 
I was fascinated. I could not withdraw. I waited to 
see the fort deliver its fire. It stood silent. 

As the sun flamed above the horizon and shot its 
light across the waters, up rose the flag from the fort, 
gracefully climbing to its topmost height, and rolled out 
its folds, as if it were sent up to look out over the 
troubled scene and command peace. Still no gun from 
the fort replied. Two hours of bombarding, and not a 



BOMBARDMENT OF FORT SUMTER I3 

shot in return. But at seven in the morning, a roar 
from the lower tier of guns gave notice that the fort 
had roused itself and joined in the affray. Its shot 
began to fall around me. I retreated within the bat- 
tery, and then, sick and heart-heavy, I determined to 
make my way back to the city. My heart was with 
the seventy men battling for the flag against five 
thousand. 

As I drew near the city, I began to hear the church 
bells ringing wild with joy. Crowds everywhere lined 
the wharves, filled the streets, covered the roofs of the 
hitherward houses. The people had been out all night. 
Many, discouraged at the delay, had begun returning 
to their homes. But the first sound of a gun brought 
them back with alacrity. One would think that the 
humbling of the national flag was the most joyous occa- 
sion in the world. 

All the afternoon the same continuous firing filled 
every part of the city with its sound. Volumes of 
black smoke rolled up from the fort. It was on fire. 
Its guns fired but infrequently. Every time the smoke 
rolled away I looked anxiously through the glass to see 
if the flag still waved. The sun went down upon it. 
All night, but at intervals of fifteen minutes, the bom- 
bardment went on. People who had expected to reduce 



14 STORIES OF T}^ CIVIL WAR 

the fort in a few hours seemed discouraged at this pro- 
tracted defence. 

The morning came, and with its first full light the 
forts that lay in a circle round the fort opened in order, 
Johnson on the south, Cummings' Point on the east, 
Moultrie on the north, and the floating battery on the 
west, together with the smaller intermediate batteries. 
As far as I could discern, the walls of Sumter had suf- 
fered little. No breach appeared. The barbette guns 
were knocked away. But though they were the heavi- 
est, they had never been used. The besiegers aimed to 
sweep them with such a fire that the men could not 
work them. Again the smoke rolled up from the fort, 
and flames could now be seen. Moultrie poured a con- 
tinuous stream of red-hot shot upon the devoted fort. 
At last came noon. The firing ceased. Boats were 
putting off to the fort. By one o'clock it was noised 
abroad that t4ie garrison had surrendered. It was true. 
On Sunday noon, they were to salute the flag and evac- 
uate the fort. 

If the week days were jubilant, how shall I describe 
the Sabbath .? The churches were thronged with ex- 
cited citizens. In many of these all restraint was 
thrown off, and the thanksgiving and rejoicing for the 
victory swept everything like summer winds. I went 



BOMBARDMENT OF FORT SUMTER 1 5 

to my own church. The decorum of the service, which 
is a bulwark against irreverent excitements, served, on 
this occasion, a good purpose. Yet, strange as it may 
seem, in J:he lessons for the day occurred a passage that 
sounded in my ears like a prophecy, and full of warning 
and doom. It was this: *' Prepare war, wake up the 
mighty men ; let them come up. Beat your plough- 
shares into swords, and your pruning-hooks into spears ; 
let the weak say, I am strong. Multitudes, multitudes 
in the valley of decision ; for the day of the Lord is 
near in the valley of decision." 

As I came from church, a south wind blew, and I 
heard the sound of cannon. I walked rapidly to the 
point, and only in time to see through my glass the flag 
descending from over Sumter. The drama is ended 
— or rather opened ! who can tell what shall be the end 
of this } It may be that all the roar and battle of the 
two days past is as nothing to that which at some future 
day shall precede the raising again of the flag over this 
fallen fortress. The future is in the hand of God. 
Over the future hangs a dark cloud which I would that 
I might pierce and know what it hides. 



1 6 STORIES OF T^ 



CIVIL WAR 



III 

SUNDAY IN NORWOOD AFTER THE FALL OF FORT 
SUMTER 

[From Henry Ward Beecker^s "Norwoody'\ 

On Sunday morning, the 14th of April, 1861, it was 
known that Fort Sumter had surrendered. The scales 
fell from men's eyes. 

There was war ! 

The flag of the nation had been pierced by men who 
had been taught their fatal skill under its protection. 
The nation's pride, its love, its honor, suffered with 
that flag, and with it trailed in humiliation. 

Without concert or council, the whole people rose 
suddenly with one indignation, to vindicate the nation's 
honor. It came as night comes, or the morning, broad 
as a hemisphere. It rose as the tides raise the whole 
ocean, along the whole continent, drawn upward by the 
whole heavens. 

The frivolous became solemn ; the wild grew stern ; 
the young felt an instant manhood. 

It was the strangest Sunday that ever dawned on 




DEFENCE OF FORT SUMTER. 



SUNDAY IN NORWOOD 1/ 

Norwood since the colonial days, when, by reason of 
hostile Indians, the fathers repaired to church with 
their muskets. All the region round came forth. 
Never had such an audience gathered in that house. 
Every face had in it a new life. Dr. Buell was not 
wont to introduce into his Sabbath services topics allied 
to politics, nor did he mean to change his habit to-day. 

His sermon, weighty, and on themes which usually 
are accounted more solemn than all others, yet sounded 
light and empty in men's ears. Nor had he ever 
preached with so much difficulty. He lost the connec- 
tion, hurried passages which should have been deliber- 
ate, and afterwards owned that he was never so glad to 
get through a sermon. 

It was in the prayer following that the stream burst 
forth. A mighty tide rose within him, and he poured 
out his soul for the country. He prayed for the gov- 
ernment, for the men in Fort Sumter, who had been 
like the three children in the fiery furnace, for the flag, 
and for all in authority, that they might have wisdom 
and courage to vindicate it. 

The house was still, so still that the ear ached be- 
tween every pause. The word " Amen " set loose an 
army of handkerchiefs, and people wiped more eyes 
than were ever wet at once in that house. Just as Dr. 



1 8 STORIES OF TOE CIVIL WAR 

Buell rOse tO give out the closing hymn, he saw the choir 
rising as if to give an anthem. The minister sat right 
down ; but he quickly rose up again, and every man in 
the house, as the choir sang the *' Star-Spangled Ban- 
ner." Such a scene had never been known in sober 
Norwood. And when the last strain died, it was with 
difficulty that the minister could repress an open cheer. 

" Why didn't you let 'em } " said Deacon Marble. 
" It's enough to make the stones cry out. I never felt 
so sorry before that I hadn't a house full of boys." 

Aunt Polly, for once, found nothing to rebuke in the 
deacon. " This is the Lord's work. Sunday isn't a 
bit too good to teach men that they ought 'er save the 
country ! . . . My gran'father dug the sile out from 
under this church to git saltpetre to make powder on, 
to fight for our liberties ! And I guess the old man's 
bones that's lyin' yonder shook when they heard them 
cannon jar ! Now's the time for folks to show them- 
selves." 

The whole population seemed to be in the street. 
Men formed groups and discussed the only topic. 
Party lines were fast rubbing out. There was an 
afternoon service, but it was like a dream. As yet 
men's feelings had found no channels, and no relief in 
action. A few discordant notes there were. Tough old 



SUNDAY IN NORWOOD IQ 

Hunt, farmer up in " Hardscrabble," as a poor neigh- 
borhood was called, in spite of angry eyes and frowning 
brows, would have his say : — 

" I alius told you that the Abolitionists would bring 
blood on us. Now I hope they're satisfied. They've 
been teasin' and worryin' the South for twenty years, 
and now the South has turned and gored 'em. Sarved 
'em right !" 

"I tell ye, old leather-skin," said Hiram Beers, 
" you'd better shut up ! The boys ain't in a temper to 
hear such talk. You'll git hurt afore you git through 
a hundred speeches like that." 

Old Hunt was a small, wiry man, about sixty years 
of age, with black hair, and a turbid hazel eye that 
looked cruel when he was wrathful. Hiram's words set 
him aflame. 

" Where's the man that's goin' to stop my tongue .? 
This is a free country, I guess. I shall say what I've a 
mind to" — 

Just then Hiram, who saw that trouble was brewing, 
changed the attack from the old man to his horse, who 
was as fiery and obstinate as his master, and already 
had exhausted his patience and fodder in a long Sun- 
day under the horse-shed. While the old man was 
standing in his wagon, bristling all over like a black- 



20 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

and-tan terrier, and fierce for opposition, Hiram gave 
his horse a keen cut where a horse least likes to be hit. 
The first thing Hunt knew, he was sprawling in his 
wagon, and the horse was heading for home with a 
speed unbecoming a Sabbath day. The old man, nim- 
ble and plucky, gathered himself up, utterly at a loss 
which he was most angry with, the public or the horse ; 
now giving the animal a rousing pull, and then shaking 
his left fist back at the crowd, he disappeared from the 
green, in a medley of utterances which, addressed 
sometimes to his horse and sometimes to Hiram, and 
sometimes to the imaginary Abolitionists, formed a 
grotesque oration. 

''I'm as much of a Democrat as he is," said Hiram, 
"and have alius gone with my party. But I tell ye, 
boys, this is no party matter. This is a black business, 
and there ain't but one way to settle it. We've tried 
the votes, and they won't stand that. Now we'll try 
the bullets, and the side that can stand that longest is 
goin' to rule this country, that's all." 

Old Mr. Turfmould, the village undertaker, ventured 
to say, without meaning any harm — merely as a moral 
reflection: — ''Ah, Mr. Beers, it's awful, killin' folks, 
and huddlin' 'em into holes without funerals and decent 
fixin's of any kind." 



~ . SUNDAY IN NORWOOD 21 

"Shet up, old owl!" said Hiram. "This thing's 
goin' to be fought out, that's sartain, and we won't have 
nobody hangin' back at home. A man that won't fight 
when his flag's fired on, ain't worth a dead nit." 

Old Deacon Trowbridge was talking with Judge 
Bacon, to whom he usually deferred with profound 
respect for his legal learning. 

"I hope," said Judge Bacon, with calm and gentle 
tones, " that the government will forbear and not be in 
haste to strike again. We ought not to think of 
coercion. Our Southern brethren will come to their 
reason if we are patient, and wait for their passions to 
subside." 

"I tell ye, judge, we ain't goin' to wait. We've 
waited long enough, and this is what we've got for it ! 
Secede ! rob the government ! shoot our flag ! and kill 
our soldiers, shut up in the fort like chickens in a coop, 
and then not fight ? You might as well have a Day of 
Judgment and nobody hurt. If we ain't goin' to fight 
now, we'd better swap clothes with the women, and let 
them try awhile. I tell ye we will fight ! " 

Deacon Trowbridge was like a green hickory fire on a 
winter's morning. It requires the utmost skill and 
blowing to get it to burn, but when once it is started, 
it blazes and crackles with immense heat, and speedily 



22 STORIES OF "I^ CIVIL WAR 

drives all those who were cuddling and shivering about 
it, far back into the room. 

On he went, indignant at the judge, and talking to 
every one he met. " It's come ! Ye can't help it. I 
don't want to help it ! It's the Lord's will, and I am 
desperate willin'. If my boys — some on 'em — don't 
go, I'll disown 'em — don't want no cowards on my 
farm ! " 

The sun had gone down. Every household in Nor- 
wood and wide about was a scene of excitement. That 
night, prayer was a reality. Never before had the chil- 
dren heard from their fathers' lips such supplications 
for the country. Never before had the children's 
hearts been open to join so fervently in prayer them- 
selves. Men seemed to be conscious that they were 
helpless in the presence of an immeasurable danger. 
By faith they laid their hearts upon the bosom of God, 
till they felt the beatings of that great Heart whose 
courses give life and law to the universe. 



BATTLE-HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC 23 



IV 

BATTLE-HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC 

[By Mrs. Julia Ward Howei\ 

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the 

Lord ; 
He is tramphng out the vintage where the grapes of 

wrath are stored ; 
He hath loosed the fateful lightning of his terrible 

swift sword : 

His truth is marching on. 

I have seen him in the watchfires of a hundred cir- 
cling camps ; 

They have builded him an altar in the evening dews 
and damps ; 

I have read his righteous sentence by the dim and flar- 
ing lamps : 

His day is marching on. 

I have read a fiery gospel writ in burnished rows of 

steel : 
" As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my grace 

shall deal ; 
Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with 

his heel. 

Since God is marching on." 



24 STORIES OF xrf^ CIVIL WAR 

He hath sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call 
retreat ; 

He is sifting out the hearts of men before his judg- 
ment seat ; 

Oh ! be swift, my soul, to answer him ! be jubilant, my 

feet ! 

Our God is marching on. 

In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the 

sea. 
With a glory in his bosom that transfigures you and me ; 
As he died to make men holy, let us die to make men 

free, 

While God is marching on. 



THE DEATH OF COLONEL ELLSWORTH 25 



THE DEATH OF COLONEL ELLSWORTH 

It was two o'clock on the morning of the twenty- 
fourth of May, 1 86 1, when the expedition planned by 
General Scott started secretly from Washington to 
take military possession of Alexandria. One-half of 
the troops crossed the Long Bridge, and marched down 
the right bank of the Potomac, to enter Alexandria by 
the rear, and to cut off any Confederate troops who 
might be lurking about the city. The other half, in- 
cluding the Fire Zouaves under Colonel Ellsworth, 
went down the river in steamers, from the Washington 
Navy Yard. It was in the first gray of the morning, 
when the steamers touched at the wharves. Of this 
division Colonel Ellsworth was in command. He was 
one of the first to land. While the regiment was form- 
ing in line, one company was sent, post haste, to seize 
the telegraph station, that no communication could be 
sent to Richmond of their landing. This was of such 
vital importance that Colonel Ellsworth himself accom- 



26 STORIES OF TH^T 



IVIL WAR 



panied the party, passing through the streets on the 
full run. 

On their way they went by the Marshall House, a 
hotel kept by one Jackson, over the roof of which a 
Confederate flag was flaunted. "We must have that 
flag," said Colonel Ellsworth, and, rushing in, he found 
a white man, in the front room, half dressed, and a 
negro. "Who raised that flag.^" inquired the colonel. 
" I do not know," was the reply, "I am a boarder here." 
Followed by two or three, he sprang up-stairs to the 
roof of the house, seized the flag, and was descending 
with it in his hands, hardly a moment having been 
occupied in the movement, when the same half-dressed 
man, who had said that he was a boarder, but who 
proved to be Jackson himself, a brutal desperado, 
jumped from a dark passage, and, levelling a double- 
barrelled gun at Colonel Ellsworth's breast, at a dis- 
tance of not more than two yards, fired a couple of 
slugs directly into his heart, and which, of course, 
proved fatal. 

Ellsworth was on the second or third step from the 
landing, and he dropped forward with that heavy, hor- 
rible, headlong weight, which always comes of sudden 
death inflicted in such a manner. His assailant had 
turned like a flash to give the contents of the other 



THE DEATH OF COLONEL ELLSWORTH 2/ 

barrel to Francis E. Brownell, a private, but either he 
could not command his aim, or the Zouave was too 
quick with him, for the slugs went over his head, and 
passed through the panels and wainscot of the door, 
which sheltered some sleeping lodgers. Simultaneously 
with his second shot, and sounding like the echo of the 
first, Brownell's rifle was heard, and the assassin stag- 
gered backward. His wound, exactly in the middle of 
the face, was frightful beyond description. Of course 
Brownell did not know how fatal his shot had been, 
and so, before the man dropped, he thrust his sabre 
bayonet through and through the body, the force of the 
blow sending the dead man violently down the upper 
section of the second flight of stairs. 

The body of the murdered colonel was laid upon a 
bed ; and the flag, stained with his blood, and purified 
by this contact from the baseness of its former mean- 
ing, was fitly laid about his feet. 

Thus died, by the hand of a cowardly assassin, the 
brave and gallant Ellsworth. The tragic death of 
this young officer at a time when the country was not 
used to the horrors of war made a profound impression 
upon the people of the North. 



28 STORIES OF TM CIVIL WAR 



•VI 

UNDER FIRE FOR THE FIRST TIME 

How does a soldier feel who is under fire for the first 
time ? To hear the bullets go singing past, now on this 
side, now on that, and now just overhead ! How does a 
regiment act during its first battle ? An ofificer of a 
Maine regiment thus vividly describes the behavior of 
his men during their first experience in battle. To one 
glancing along the line, the sight was ludicrous in the 
extreme. All were excited, and were loading and firing 
in every conceivable manner. 

" Some were standing, but most were kneeling or 
lying down. Some were astride their pieces, and were 
ramming the charge totally regardless of the rules on 
that point. Many had poured their cartridges on the 
ground, and were ^ peddling out ' the lead with more 
speed than accuracy. We all took occasion to gibe our 
friends in gray to the best of our ability. So, with the 
din of musketry and the yells of friend and foe, it seemed 
as if bedlam were let loose. 

" The behavior of those who were hit appeared most 



UNDER FIRE FOR THE FIRST TIME 29 

singular ; and, as there were so many of them, it looked 
as if we had a crowd of howling dervishes dancing and 
kicking around in our ranks. 

*' A bullet often knocks over the man it hits, and rarely 
fails by its force alone to disturb his equilibrium. Then 
the shock, whether painful or not, causes a sudden 
jump or shudder. 

" Now, as every man, with hardly an exception, was 
either killed, wounded, hit in the clothes, hit by spent 
balls or stones, or jostled by his wounded comrades, it 
follows that we had a wonderful exhibition. Some 
reeled round and round, others threw up their arms 
and fell over backward, others went plunging backward 
trying to regain their balance ; a few fell to the front, 
but generally the force of the bullet prevented this, 
except where it struck low, and apparently knocked the 
soldier's feet from under him. Many dropped the 
musket and seized the wounded part with both hands, 
and a very few fell dead. 

" The enemy were armed with every kind of rifle and 
musket, and as their front was three times ours, we 
were under a cross-fire almost from the first. The 
various tunes sung by the bullets we shall never forget, 
and, furthermore, shall never confound them with any 
we heard later. In a moment when curiosity got the 



30 STORIES OF T}^ CIVIL WAR 

better of fear, I took notice of this fact, and made a 
record of it in my diary a day or two afterward. 

**The fierce sip of the minie bullets was not promi- 
nent by comparison at that particular moment, though 
there were enough of them certainly. The main body 
of sound was produced by the singing of slow, round 
balls and buckshot fired from a smooth-bore, which do 
not cut or tear the air as the creased ball does. 

" Each bullet, according to its kind, size, rate of speed, 
and nearness to the ear, made a different sound. They 
seemed to be going past in sheets, all around and 
above us." 

When the war broke out, many officers on both sides, 
even of high rank, were unskilled in military tactics. 
Hence the art of war was rapidly learned, but at the 
expense of stupid blunders and of many valuable lives. 
A Confederate colonel gives the following interesting 
sketch of his first battle. On entering a strip of wood, 
it occurred to him that his men, being raw recruits, 
would not fight well on horseback, and hence he ordered 
them to dismount. This, of course, stopped the whole 
body of the army behind the regiment. While the 
men were leisurely tying their horses, an aide came up 
at a furious gait and asked peremptorily : " What have 
you stopped here for, and blocked up the whole road ? " 



UNDER FIRE FOR THE FIRST TIME 3 1 

'**You mind your business,' said the adjutant; 'our 
colonel knows what he's about.' 

'* I saw the point in a moment, and had them move out 
in the woods. In the meantime my scabbard got itself 
hitched in a tangled bush. So I told the battalion to 
form at the edge of the timber and wait for me. Then 
I cut the straps and left my broken scabbard in the 
bush, while, with naked blade flashing in my hand, I 
rushed to the front. Not a man could I find. They 
were anxious to see the fun, and had run over the brow 
of the hill, and scattered along the whole length of the 
line. 

" With infinite difficulty I got them together, leaving 
wide gaps in the battle array. Barely in position, I 
heard a distant cannon, and at the same instant saw the 
ball high in the air. As near as I could calculate, it 
was going to strike about where I stood, and I dis- 
mounted with remarkable agility, only to see the missile 
of war pass sixty feet overhead. 

*' I felt rather foolish as I looked at my men, but a 
good deal relieved when I saw that they, too, had all 
squatted to the ground, and were none of them look- 
ing at me. I quickly mounted and ordered them to 
* stand up.' 

*'We were soon ordered to charge, and drove the 



32 STORIES OF THJ^CiVIL WAR 

enemy through the tall prairie grass, till they came to 
a creek and escaped. We passed some of the dead and 
wounded, the first sad results of real war that I had 
ever seen. At night the heavens opened wide, the rain 
fell in torrents ; not even a campfire could be kept to 
light up the impenetrable gloom, and I sought a friendly 
mud-hole to sleep as best I could. 

'' The pale, rigid faces that I had seen turned up to 
the evening sun, appeared before me, as I tried in vain 
to shield my own from the driving rain, and as the big 
foot of a comrade, blundering round in the darkness, 
splashed my eyes full of mud, I closed them to sleep, 
muttering to myself : 'And this is war.' " 

Here is a brave soldier's story of how he felt during 
his first battle. 

" No person who was not upon the ground, and an eye- 
witness of the stirring scenes which there transpired, 
can begin to comprehend from a description the terrible 
realities of a battle ; and even those who participated 
are competent to speak only of their own personal ex- 
perience. Where friends and foes are falling by scores, 
and every species of missile is flying through the air, 
threatening each instant to send one into eternity, 
little time is afforded for more observation or reflection 
than is required for personal safety. 



UNDER FIRE FOR THE FIRST TIME 33 

" The scene is one of the most exciting and exhilarat- 
ing that can be conceived. Imagine a regiment passing 
you at 'double-quick,' the men cheering with enthu- 
siasm, their teeth set, their eyes flashing, and the whole 
in a frenzy of resolution. You accompany them to the 
field. They halt. An aide-de-camp passes to or from 
the commanding general. The clear voices of officers 
ring along the line in tones of passionate eloquence. 
The word is given to march, and the body moves into 
action. For the first time in your life you listen to the 
whizzing of iron. Grape and canister fly into the ranks, 
bomb-shells burst overhead, and the fragments fly all 
around you. A friend falls ; perhaps a dozen or twenty 
of your comrades lie wounded or dying at your feet ; a 
strange, involuntary shrinking steals over you, which it 
is impossible to resist. You feel inclined neither to 
advance nor recede, but are spell-bound by the con- 
tending emotions of the moral and physical man. The 
cheek blanches, the lip quivers, and the eye almost 
hesitates to look upon the scene. 

" In this attitude you may, perhaps, be ordered to 
stand an hour, inactive, havoc meanwhile marking its 
footsteps with blood on every side. Finally the order 
is given to advance, to fire, or to charge. And now, 
what a change T With your first shot you become 



34 STORIES ofWhe civil war 

a new man. Personal safety is your least concern. 
Fear has no existence in your bosom. Hesitation gives 
way to an uncontrollable desire to rush into the thick- 
est of the fight. The dead and dying around you, if 
they receive a passing thought, only serve to stimulate 
you to revenge. You become cool and deliberate, and 
watch the effect of bullets, the shower of bursting 
shells, the passage of cannon-balls as they rake their 
murderous channels through your ranks, the plunging 
of wounded horses, the agonies of the dying, and the 
clash of contending arms, which follows the charge, 
with a feeling so calloused by surrounding circum- 
stances that your soul seems dead to every sympathiz- 
ing and selfish thought. 

" Such is the spirit which carries the soldier through 
the field of battle. But when the excitement has 
passed, when the roll of musketry has ceased, the noisy 
voices of the cannons are stilled, the dusky pall of 
smoke has risen from the field, and you stroll over the 
theatre of carnage, hearing the groans of the wounded, 
discovering here, shattered almost beyond recognition, 
the form of some dear friend whom only an hour before 
you met in the full flush of life and happ'ness, — 
then you begin to realize the horrors of war, and 
experience a reaction of nature. The heart opens its 



UNDER FIRE FOR THE FIRST TIME 35 

floodgates, humanity asserts herself again, and you 
begin to feel. 

" Friend and foe alike now receive your kindest serv- 
ices. The enemy, whom, but a short time before, full 
of hate, you were doing all in your power to kill, you 
now endeavor to save. You supply him with water to 
quench his thirst and with food to sustain his strength. 
All that is human or charitable in your nature now rises 
to the surface, and you are animated by that spirit of 
mercy which ^blesseth him that gives and him that 
takes.' A battle-field is eminently a place that tries 
men's souls." 



36 STORIES OF tIK civil WAR 



VII 

LITTLE EDDIE THE DRUMMER BOY 

A FEW days before our regiment received orders to 
join General Lyon, on his march to Wilson's Creek, the 
drummer of our company was taken sick and conveyed 
to the hospital On the night before the march, a 
negro was arrested within the Hnes of the camp, and 
brought before our captain, who asked him what 
business he had within the lines. He replied: ''I 
know a drummer that you would like to enlist in your 
company, and I have come to tell you of it." He was 
immediately requested to inform the drummer that if 
he would enlist for our short term of service, he would 
be allowed extra pay, and to do this he must be on the 
ground early in the morning. 

On the following morning there appeared before the 
captain's quarters during the beating of the reveille, a 
middle-aged woman, dressed in deep mourning, leading 
by the hand a sharp, sprightly-looking boy, apparently 
about twelve or thirteen years of age. Her story vv^as 
soon told. She was from East Tennessee, where her 



LITTLE EDDIE THE DRUMMER BOY 37 

husband had been killed by the Confederates and all 
their property destroyed. 

During the rehearsal of her story the little fellow 
kept his eyes intently fixed upon the countenance of 
the captain, who was about to express a determination 
not to take so small a boy, when he spoke out : " Don't 
be afraid, captain, I can drum." This was spoken with 
so much confidence that the captain immediately ob- 
served, with a smile : " Well, well, sergeant, bring the 
drum, and order our fifer to come forward." In a few 
moments the drum was produced, and our fifer, a tall, 
good-natured fellow, who stood, when erect, something 
over six feet in height, soon made his appearance. 

Upon being introduced to his new comrade, he 
stooped down, with his hands resting upon his knees, 
and, after peering into the little fellow's face a moment, 
he observed: ''My little man, can you drum.?" — *'Yes, 
sir," he replied, "I drummed in Tennessee." Our fifer 
immediately commenced straightening himself upward 
until all the angles in his person had disappeared, when 
he placed his fife at his mouth and played the '' Flowers 
of Edinborough," one of the most difficult things to follow 
with the drum that could have been selected, and nobly 
did the little fellow follow him, showing himself to be a 
master of the drum. When the music ceased, our cap- 
tain turned to the mother, and observed, — 



38 STORIES OF Tiff CIVIL WAR 

" Madam, I will take your boy. What is his name ? '* 

" Edward Lee," she replied ; then, placing her hand 
upon the captain's arm, she continued, " Captain, if he 
is not killed" — here her maternal feelings overcame 
her utterance, and she bent down over her boy and 
kissed him upon the forehead. As she rose, she ob- 
served : " Captain, you will bring him back with you, 
won't you } " 

"Yes, yes," he replied, "we will be certain to bring 
him back with us. We shall be discharged in six 
weeks." 

An hour after, our company led the Iowa First out 
of camp, our drum and fife playing "The girl I left 
behind me." Eddie, as we called him, soon became a 
great favorite with all the men in the company. When 
any of the boys had returned from a foraging excur- 
sion, Eddie's share of the peaches and melons was the 
first apportioned out. During our heavy and fatiguing 
march, it was often amusing to see our long-legged 
fifer wading through the mud with our little drummer 
mounted upon his back, and always in that position 
when fording streams. 

During the fight at Wilson's Creek, I was stationed 
with a part of our company on the right of Totten's 
battery, while the balance of our company, with a part 



LITTLE EDDIE THE DRUMMER BOY 39 

of an Illinois regiment, was ordered down into a deep 
ravine upon our left, in which it was known a portion 
of the enemy was concealed, with whom they were 
soon engaged. The contest in the ravine continuing 
some time, Totten suddenly wheeled his battery upon 
the enemy in that quarter, when they soon retreated to 
the high ground behind their lines. In less than 
twenty minutes after Totten had driven the enemy 
from the ravine, the word passed from man to man 
throughout the army, ''Lyon is killed!" and soon after, 
hostilities having ceased upon both sides, the order 
came for our main force to fall back upon Springfield, 
while a part of the Iowa First and two companies of 
the Missouri regiment were to camp upon the ground 
and cover the retreat next morning. That night I was 
detailed for guard duty, my turn of guard closing with 
the morning call. When I went out with the officer as 
a relief, I found that my post was upon a high eminence 
that overlooked the deep ravine in which our men had 
engaged the enemy, until Totten's battery came to 
their assistance. It was a dreary, lonesome beat. The 
moon had gone down in the early part of the night, 
while the stars twinkled dimly through a hazy atmos- 
phere, lighting up imperfectly the surrounding objects. 
The hours passed slowly away, when at length the 



40 STORIES OF T^ 



CIVIL WAR 



morning light began to streak along the eastern sky, 
making surrounding objects more plainly visible. Pres- 
ently I heard a drum beat up the morning call. At 
first I thought it came from the camp of the enemy 
across the creek ; but as I listened, I found that it came 
up from the deep ravine ; for a few minutes it was silent, 
and then I heard it again. I listened — the sound of 
the drum was familiar to me — and I knew that it was 
our drummer boy from Tennessee. 

I was about to desert my post to go- to his assistance, 
when I discovered the officer of the guard approaching 
with two men. We all listened to the sound, and were 
satisfied that it was Eddie's drum. I asked permission 
to go to his assistance. The officer hesitated, saying 
that the orders were to march in twenty minutes. I 
promised to be back in that time, and he consented. I 
immediately started down the hill through the thick 
undergrowth, and upon reaching the valley I followed 
the sound of the drum, and soon found him, seated 
upon the ground, his back leaning against the trunk of 
a fallen tree, while his drum hung upon a bush in front 
of him, reaching nearly to the ground. As soon as he 
discovered me he dropped his drumsticks and ex- 
claimed, " O corporal ! I am so glad to see you. Give 
me a drink, please," reaching out his hand for my can- 



LITTLE EDDIE THE DRUMMER BOY 4I 

teen, which was empty. I immediately turned to bring 
him some water from the brook that I could hear rip- 
pling through the bushes near b}^, when, thinking that 
I was about to leave him, he began crying, saying : 
"Don't leave me, corporal — I can't walk." I was 
soon back with the water, when I discovered that he 
was seriously wounded in both of his feet by a cannon- 
ball. After satisfying his thirst, he looked up into my 
face and said : " You don't think I will die, corporal, do 
you ? This man said I would not — he said the sur- 
geon could cure my feet." I now discovered a man 
lying on the grass near him. By his dress I recognized 
him as belonging to the enemy. It appeared that he 
had been shot through the bowels, and fallen near 
where Eddie lay. Knowing that he could not live, and 
seeing the condition of the boy, he had crawled to him, 
taken off his buckskin suspenders, and corded the little 
fellow's legs below the knee, and then lay down and 
died. While he was telling me these particulars, I 
heard the tramp of cavalry coming down the ravine, 
and in a moment a scout of the enemy was upon us, 
and I was taken prisoner. I requested the officer to 
take Eddie up in front of him, and he did so, carrying 
him with great tenderness and care. When we reached 
the camp of the enemy, the little fellow was dead. 



42 STORIES OF THe4^VIL WAR 



VIII 

THE COMBAT BETWEEN THE MONITOR AND 
MERRIMAC 

About nine o'clock on Saturday evening, March 8, 
1862, Ericsson's new ironclad turret ship, the Moni- 
tor, reached Fortress Monroe from New York. Every 
exertion had been made by her inventor to get her out 
in time to meet the Merrimac ; and the Confederates, 
finding out from their spies in New York that she 
would probably be ready, put a double force on their 
frigate and worked day and night. It is said that this 
extra labor gained that one day in which the Merrimac 
destroyed the Cumberland and the Congress. 

The Monitor was commanded by Lieutenant John L, 
Worden. A dreadful passage of three days had almost 
worn out her crew. The sea had swept over her decks ; 
the turret was often the only part above water. The 
tiller-rope was at one time thrown off the wheel. The 
draught-pipe had been choked by the pouring down of the 
waves. The men were half suffocated. The fires had 
been repeatedly extinguished. Ventilation had, how- 



THE MONITOR AND MERRIMAC 43 

ever, been obtained through the turret. Throughout the 
preceding afternoon, Worden had heard the sound of 
the cannonading. He delayed but a few minutes at the 
fortress, and soon after midnight had anchored the 
Monitor alongside the Minnesota. 

Day broke, a clear and beautiful Sunday. The flag 
of the Cumberland was still flying. The Merrimac 
approached to renew the attack. She ran down toward 
the fortress, and then came up the channel through 
which the Minnesota had passed. Worden at once 
took his station at the peep-hole of his pilot-house, laid 
the Monitor before her enemy, and gave the fire of his 
two eleven-inch guns. The shot of each was one hun- 
dred and sixty-eight pounds weight. Catesby Jones, 
who had taken command of the Merrimac, Buchanan 
having been wounded the day before, saw at once that 
he had on his hands a very different antagonist from 
those of yesterday. The turret was but a very small 
work to fire at, nine feet by twenty ; the shot that 
struck it glanced off. One bolt only, from a rifle-gun, 
struck squarely, penetrating the iron. For the most 
part, the shots flew over the low deck, missing their aim. 

Five times the Merrimac tried to run the Monitor 
down, and at each time received, at a few feet distance, 
the fire of the eleven-inch guns. In her movements, at 



44 STORIES OF TH^CIVIL WAR 

one moment she got aground, and the Hght-drawing 
Monitor, steaming round her, tried at every promising 
point to get a shot into her. Her armor at last began 
to start and bend. 

Unable to shake off the Monitor, or to do her any 
injury, the Merrimac now renewed her attack on the 
frigate Minnesota, receiving from her a whole broadside, 
which struck squarely. "It was enough," said the 
commander of the frigate, "to have blown out of the 
water any wooden ship in the world." In her turn, she 
sent from her rifled bow-gun a shell through the Min- 
nesota's side ; it exploded within her, tearing four of 
her rooms into one, and setting her on fire. Another 
shell burst the boiler of a tugboat which lay alongside 
the Minnesota. The frigate was firing on the iron- 
clad solid shot as fast as she could. 

Once more the Monitor ran between them, compell- 
ing her antagonist to change position, in doing which 
the Confederate ram again grounded, and again re- 
ceived a whole broadside from the Minnesota. The 
blows she was receiving were beginning to tell upon 
her. As soon as she could get clear, she ran down the 
bay, followed by the Monitor. Suddenly she turned 
round and attempted to run her tormentor down. Her 
beak grated on the Monitor's deck and was wrenched. 



THE MONITOR AND MERRIMAC 45 

The turret ship stood unharmed a blow like that which 
had sent the Cumberland to the bottom ; she merely 
glided out from under her antagonist, and in the act 
of so doing gave her a shot while almost in contact. 
It seemed to crush in her armor. 

The Monitor now hauled off for the purpose of hoist- 
ing more shot into her turret. Catesby Jones thought 
he had silenced her, and that he might make another 
attempt on the Minnesota. He, however, changed his 
course as the Monitor steamed up, and it was seen that 
the Merrimac was sagging down at the stern. She 
made the best of her way back to Craney Island. The 
battle was over ; the turreted Monitor had driven her 
from the field and won the victory. 

The Minnesota had fired two hundred and forty-seven 
solid shot, two hundred and eighty-two shells, and more 
than ten tons of powder. The Monitor had fired forty- 
one shot, and was struck twenty-two times. The last shell 
fired by the Merrimac at her struck her pilot-house 
opposite the peep-hole, through which Worden at that 
moment was looking. He was knocked down senseless 
and blinded by the explosion. When consciousness re- 
turned, the first question this brave officer asked was : 
** Did we save the Minnesota ? " The shattering of the 
pilot-house was the greatest injury that the Monitor 



46 STORIES OF TI^ 



CIVIL WAR 



received. On board the Merrimac two were killed and 
nineteen wounded. She had lost her iron prow, her 
starboard anchor, and all her boats ; her armor was dis- 
located and damaged ; she leaked considerably ; her 
steam-pipe and smoke-stack were riddled ; the muzzle's 
of two of her guns were shot away ; the wood-work 
round one of the ports was set afire at every discharge. 

This remarkable naval engagement excited the most 
profound interest throughout the civilized world. It 
seemed as if the day of wooden navies were over. Nor 
was it the superiority of iron as against wood that was 
settled by this combat ; it showed that a monitor was a 
better construction than a mailed broadside sh'p, and 
that mclined armor was inferior to a turret. 

It may be interesting to know that the monitors 
proved to have serious defects as sea-going vessels. 
What became of the original Monitor ? She foundered 
in a storm off Cape Hatteras during the same year. 
The Merrimac was blown up by the Confederates, when 
they abandoned Norfolk, in May, 1862. 



A THRILLING EXPERIENCE IN A BALLOON 4/ 



IX 

A THRILLING EXPERIENCE IN AN ARMY BALLOON 

During General McClellan's campaign against Rich- 
mond, in 1862, balloons were often used to ascertain 
more accurately the position of the enemy's forces and 
fortifications. 

The aeronaut of the Army of the Potomac was 
Professor Lowe. He had made seven thousand ascen- 
sions, and his army companion was usually either an 
artist, a correspondent, or a telegrapher. 

A minute insulated wire reached from the car to 
headquarters, and McClellan was thus informed of all 
that could be seen within the Confederate works. 
Sometimes they remained aloft for hours, making obser- 
vations with powerful glasses, and once or twice the 
enemy tested their distance with shell. 

Heretofore the ascensions had been made from re- 
mote places, for there was good reason to believe that 
batteries lined the opposite hills ; but now, for the first 
time, Lowe intended to make an ascent whereby he 
could look into Richmond, count the forts encircling it, 



48 STORIES OF TH^ CIVIL WAR 

and note the number and position of the camps that 
intervened. The balloon was named the " Constitu- 
tion," and looked like a semi-distended boa-constrictor, 
as it flapped, with a jerking sound, and shook its oiled 
and painted folds. It was anchored to the ground by 
stout ropes tied to stakes, and also by sandbags which 
were hooked to its netting. The basket lay alongside ; 
the generators were contained in blue wooden wagons, 
marked " U. S." ; and the gas was fed to the balloon 
through rubber and metallic pipes. A tent or two, a 
quantity of vitriol in green and wicker carboys, some 
horses and transportation teams, and several men that 
assisted the inflation, were the only objects to be re- 
marked. As some time was to elapse before the 
arrangements were completed, I went to one of the 
tents to take a comfortable nap. The professor 
aroused me at three o'clock, when I found the canvas 
straining its bonds, and emitting a hollow sound, as of 
escaping gas. The basket was made fast directly, the 
telescopes tossed into place ; the professor climbed to 
the side, holding by the network ; and I coiled myself 
up in a rope at the bottom. 

^' Stand by your cables," he said, and the bags of 
ballast were at once cut away. Twelve men took each 
a rope in hand, and played out slowly, letting us glide 



A THRILLING EXPERIENCE IN A BALLOON 49 

gently upward. The earth seemed to be falling away, 
and we poised motionless in the blue ether. The tree- 
tops sank downward, the hills dropped noiselessly 
through space, and directly the Chickahominy was visi- 
ble beyond us, winding like a ribbon of silver through 
the ridgy landscape. 

Far and wide stretched the Federal camps. We saw 
faces turned upward gazing at our ascent, and heard 
clearly, as in a vacuum, the voices of soldiers. At 
every second the prospect widened, the belt of horizon 
enlarged, remote farmhouses came in view ; the earth 
was like a perfectly flat surface, painted with blue woods, 
and streaked with pictures of roads, fields, fences, and 
streams. As we rose higher, the river seemed directly 
beneath us, and the farms on the opposite bank were 
plainly discernible. Richmond lay only a little way off, 
enthroned on its many hills, with the James stretching 
white and sinuous from its feet to the horizon. We 
could see the streets, the suburbs, the bridges, the out- 
lying roads, nay, the moving masses of people. The 
Capitol sat, white and colossal, on Shockoe Hill, the 
dingy buildings of the Tredegar Works blackened the 
river-side above, and, one by one, we made out familiar 
hotels, public edifices, and vicinities. The fortifications 
were revealed in part only, for they took the hue or the 



50 STORIES OF T)^ CIVIL WAR ^ 

soil, and blended with it ; but many camps were plainly 
discernible, and by means of the glasses we separated 
tent from tent and hut from hut. The Confederates 
were seen running to the cover of the woods, that we 
might not discover their numbers, but we knew the 
location of their campfires by the smoke that curled 
toward us. 

A panorama so beautiful would have been rare at 
any time, but this was thrice interesting from its past 
and coming associations. Across those plains the 
hordes at our feet were either to advance victoriously, 
or be driven eastward with dusty banners and dripping 
hands. Those white farmhouses were to be receptacles 
for the groaning and the mangled ; thousands were 
to be received beneath the turf of those pasture 
fields ; and no rod of ground on any side that 
should not, sooner or later, smoke with the blood of 
the slain. 

"Guess I've got 'em now, jest where I want 'em," 
said Lowe, with a gratified laugh; "jest keep still as 
you mind to, and squint your eye through my glass, 
while I make a sketch of the roads and the country. 
Hold hard there, and anchor fast ! " he screamed to the 
people below. Then he fell imperturbably to work, 
sweeping the country with his hrcwk-eye, and letting 



A THRILLING EXPERIENCE IN A BALLOON 5 1 

nothing escape that could contribute to the complete- 
ness of his jotting. 

We had been but a few minutes thus poised, when 
close below, from the edge of a timber stretch, puffed 
a volume of white smoke. A second afterward, the air 
quivered with the peal of a cannon. A third, and we 
heard the splitting shriek of a shell, that passed a 
little to our left, but in exact range, and burst be- 
yond us in the ploughed field, heaving up the clay as 
it exploded. 

" Ha ! " said Lowe, '' they have got us foul ! Haul in 
the cables — quick ! " he shouted in a fierce tone. 

At the same instant, the puff, the report, and the 
shriek were repeated ; but this time the shell burst to our 
right in mid-air, and scattered fragments around and 
below us. 

'' Another shot will do the business," said Lowe be- 
tween his teeth ; " it isn't a mile, and they have got the 
range." 

Again the puff and the whizzing shock. I closed my 
eyes, and held my breath hard. The explosion was so 
close that the pieces of shell seemed driven across my 
face, and my ears quivered with the sound. I looked at 
Lowe to see if he was struck. He had sprung to his 
feet, and clutched the cordage frantically. 



52 STORIES OF TH^CIVIL WAR 

*' Are you pulling in there, you men ? " he bellowed 
with a loud imprecation. 

" Puff ! bang ! whiz-z-2>z 1 splutter ! " broke another 
shell, and my heart was wedged in my throat. 

I saw at a glimpse the whole bright landscape again. 
I heard the voices of soldiers below, and saw them run- 
ning across fields, fences, and ditches, to reach our 
anchorage. I saw some drummer boys digging in the 
field beneath for one of the buried shells. I saw the 
waving of signal flags, the commotion through the 
camps, — of^cers galloping their horses, teamsters 
whipping their mules, regiments turning out, drums 
beaten, and batteries limbered up. I remarked, last of 
all, the site of the battery that alarmed us, and, by a 
strange sharpness of sight and sense, believed that I 
saw the gunners swabbing, ramming, and aiming the 
pieces. 

** Puff ! bang ! whiz-z-z-z ! splutter ! crash ! " 

** Puff ! bang ! whiz-z-z-z ! splutter ! crash ! " 

" My God ! " said Lowe, hissing the words slowly and 
terribly, '' they have opened upon us from another bat- 
tery ! " 

The scene seemed to dissolve. A cold dew broke 
from my forehead. I grew blind and deaf. I had 
fainted. 



A THRILLING EXPERIENCE IN A BALLOON 53 

"Throw some water in his face," said somebody. 
" He ain't used to it. Hallo ! there he comes to." 

I staggered to my feet. There must have been a 
thousand men about us. They were looking curiously 
at the aeronaut and me. The balloon lay fuming and 
struggling on the clods. 

** Three cheers for the Union Bal-loon ! " called a lit- 
tle fellow at my side. 

" Hip, hip — hoorooar ! hoorooar ! hoorooar ! " 

" Tiger-r-r — yah ! whoop ! " 



54 



STORIES OF TfK CIVIL WAR 



X 



A PEN PICTURE OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN 



The most marked characteristic of President Lin- 
coln's manners was his simplicity and artlessness. 

This at once impressed 
itself upon the observa- 
tion of those who met 
him for the first time, 
and each successive in- 
terview deepened the 
impression. People de- 
lighted to find in the 
ruler of the nation free- 
dom from pomposity 
and affectation, min- 
gled with a certain sim- 
ple dignity which never 
forsook him, even in 
the presence of critical 
or pol'shed strangers. There was always something 
which spoke the fine fibre of the man. While his dis- 
regard of courtly conventionalities was something ludi- 




ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 



A PEN PICTURE OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN 55 

crous, his native sweetness and straightforwardness of 
manner served to disarm criticism and impress the 
visitor that he was before a man, pure, self-poised, col- 
lected, and strong in unconscious strength. 

The simple habits of Mr. Lincoln were so well known 
that it is a wonder that he did not sooner lose that 
precious life which he seemed to hold so lightly. He 
had an almost morbid dislike for an escort, or guard, and 
daily exposed himself to the deadly aim of an assassin. 
"If they kill me," he once said, "the next man will be 
just as bad for them ; and in a country like this, where 
our habits are simple, and must be, assassination is 
always possible, and will come if they are determined 
upon it." A cavalry guard was once placed at the gates 
of the White House for a while, and he said, privately, 
that he "worried until he got rid of it." 

Gentleness mixed with firmness characterized all of 
Mr. Lincoln's dealings with public men. Often bitterly 
assailed and abused, he never appeared to recognize the 
fact that he had political enemies. His keenest critics 
and most bitter opponents studiously avoided his pres- 
ence. It seemed as if no man could be familiar with 
his homely, heart-lighted features, his single-hearted 
directness and manly kindliness, and remain long 
an enemy, or be anything but his friend. It was this 



56 STORIES OF T4|P CIVIL WAR 

warm frankness of Mr. Lincoln's manner that made a 
hard-headed politician once leave the hustings v/here 
Lincoln was speaking in 1856, saying, " I won't hear 
him, for I don't like a man that makes me believe in 
him in spite of myself." 

" Honest old Abe " has passed into the language of 
our time and country as a synonym for all that is just 
and honest in man. Yet thousands of instances, 
unknown to the world, might be added to those already 
told of Lincoln's great and crowning virtue. This 
honesty appeared to spring from religious convictions. 
This was his surest refuge at times when he was most 
misunderstood or misrepresented. There was some- 
thing touching in his childlike and simple reliance upon 
Divine aid, especially when in such extremities as he 
sometimes fell into. Though prayer and reading of the 
Scriptures were his constant habit, he more earnestly 
than ever, at such times, sought that strength which is 
promised when mortal help faileth. His address upon 
the occasion of his re-inauguration has been said to be 
as truly a religious document as a state-paper ; and his 
acknowledgment of God and His providence are inter- 
woven through all of his later speeches, letters, and 
messages. Once he said : " I have been driven many 
times upon my knees by the overwhelming conviction 



A PEN PICTURE OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN 5/ 

that I had nowhere else to go. My own wisdom and 
that of all about me seemed insufficient for that day.** 

A certain lady lived for four years in the White 
House with President Lincoln's family. She gives the 
following incident of the sad days of 1863 : — 

" One day, Mr. Lincoln came into the room where I 
was fitting a dress on Mrs. Lincoln. His step was 
slow and heavy, and his face sad. Like a tired child he 
threw himself upon a sofa, and shaded his eyes with his 
hands. He was a complete picture of dejection. Mrs. 
Lincoln, observing his troubled look, asked, — 

" * Where have you been, father } ' 

" ' To the War Department,' was the brief answer. 

" * Any news } ' 

" ' Yes, plenty of news, but no good news. It is dark, 
dark everywhere.* 

" He reached forth one of his long arms and took a 
small Bible from a stand near the head of the sofa, 
opened the pages of the holy book, and was soon ab- 
sorbed in reading them. 

" A quarter of an hour passed, and, on glancing at 
the sofa, I saw that the face of the President seemed 
more cheerful. The dejected expression was gone, and 
the countenance seemed lighted up with new resolution 
and hope. 



58 STORIES OF T4P CIVIL WAR 

''The change was so marked that I could not but 
wonder at it, and wonder led to the desire to know 
what book of the Bible afforded so much comfort to the 
reader. 

" Making the search for a missing article an excuse, 
I walked gently around the sofa, and, looking into the 
open book, I saw that Mr. Lincoln was reading that 
divine comforter. Job. He read with Christian eager- 
ness, and the courage and hope that he derived from 
the inspired pages made him a new man. 

" I almost imagined I could hear the Lord speaking 
to him from out the whirlwind of battle : ' Gird up 
now thy loins like a man ; for I will demand of thee, 
and answer thou me.* 

" What a sublime picture was this ! The ruler of a 
mighty nation going to the pages of the Bible for com- 
fort and courage — and finding both — in the darkest 
hours of his country's calamity." 

No man but President Lincoln knew how great was 
the load of care which he bore, nor the amount of hard 
labor which he daily accomplished. With the usual per- 
plexities of his great office, he carried the burdens of the 
Civil War, which he always called ''this great trouble." 
Though the intellectual man had greatly grown, mean- 
time, few people would recognize the hearty, blithe- 



A PEN PICTURE OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN 59 

some, genial, and wiry Abraham Lincoln of earlier 
days, with his stooping figure, dull eyes, careworn face, 
and languid frame. The old, clear laugh never came 
back ; his even temper was sometimes disturbed, and 
his natural charity for all was often turned into an 
unwonted suspicion of the motives of men, whose selfish- 
ness cost him so much wear of mind. 

Lincoln did not have a hopeful temperament. 
Although he tried to look at the bright side of things, 
he was always prepared for disaster and defeat. He 
often saw success when others saw disaster; butoftener 
perceived a failure when others were elated with victory. 
He was never weary of commending the patience of 
the American people, which he thought something 
matchless and touching. He would often shed tears 
when speaking of the cheerful sacrifice of the light and 
strength of so many homes throughout the land. His 
own patience was marvellous. He was never crushed 
at defeat or unduly elated by success. Once he said 
the keenest blow of all the war was at an early stage, 
when the disaster at Ball's Bluff, and the death of his 
beloved friend, General Baker, smote upon him like a 
whirlwind from a desert. 

Mr. Lincoln loved to read the humorous writers. He 
could repeat from memory whole chapters from- the 



6o STORIES OF T^ CIVIL WAR 

chronicler of the " Mackerel Brigade," Parson Nasby, 
and *' Private Miles O'Reilly." These light trifles 
diverted his mind, or, as he said, gave him refuge from 
himself and his weariness. The Bible was a very famil- 
iar study, whole chapters of Isaiah, the New Testa- 
ment, and the Psalms, being fixed in his memory. He 
liked the Old Testament best, and dwelt on the simple 
beauty of the historical books. Of the poets, he pre- 
ferred Tom Hood and Holmes, the mixture of humor 
and pathos in their writings being attractive to him 
beyond all other poets. 

The President's love of music was something pas- 
sionate, but his tastes were simple and uncultivated, 
his choice being old airs, songs, and ballads, among 
which the plaintive Scotch songs were best liked. 
"Annie Laurie," and especially *' Auld Robin Gray," 
never lost their charms for him. 

He wrote slowly and with greatest deliberation, and 
liked to take his time ; yet some of his despatches, 
written without any corrections, were models of com- 
pactness and finish. His private correspondence was 
extensive. He preferred writing his letters, with his 
own hand, making copies himself frequently, and filing 
everything away in a set of pigeon-holes in his office. 
He conscientiously attended to his enormous corre- 



A PEN PICTURE OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN 6l 

spondence, and read everything that appeared to 
demand his attention. Even in the busiest days of the 
war, the good President found time to send his auto- 
graph to every schoolboy who wrote to him for it. 

" None of the artists or pictures," says Walt Whit- 
man, " caught the deep, though subtle and indirect ex- 
pression of Lincoln's face. There is something else 
there. One of the great portrait painters of two or 
three centuries ago is needed. 

" Probably the reader has seen physiognomies (often 
old farmers, sea-captains, and such) that, behind their 
homeliness, or even ugliness, held superior points so 
subtle, yet so palpable, making the real life of their 
faces almost as impossible to depict as a wild perfume, 
or fruit-paste, or a passionate tone of the living voice 
— and such was Lincoln's face, the peculiar color, the 
lines of it, the eyes, mouth, expression. Of technical 
beauty it had nothing — but to the eye of a great artist 
it furnished a rare study, a feast and fascination." 



62 



STORIES OR^HE CIVIL WAR 



XI 



HOW A BOY HELPED GENERAL M'CLELLAN 
WIN A BATTLE 

Rich Mountain is famous as the scene where the first 

decisive battle was fought in West Virginia between 

General McClellan and 
the Confederate General 
Garnett. Rich Mountain 
Range is long, narrow, 
and high ; and, except 
the summit, whereon is 
Mr. Hart's farm, it is cov- 
ered with timber densely, 
save a narrow strip on one 
side, which is thickly cov- 
ered with laurel. The 
Parkersburg and Staun- 
ton pike winds round the 

mountain, and passes, by the heads of ravines, directly 

over its top. 

The formation of the mountain-top is admirably 

adapted for the erection of strong military defences; 




GEORGE B. M'CLELLAN. 



HOW A BOY HELPED m'cLELLAN 63 

and on this account General Garnett had selected it as 
a stronghold. He had erected formidable fortifications, 
rendering an attack fatal to the assailing party, on the 
road leading up the mountain, which was deemed the 
only route by which the enemy could possibly reach his 
position. General McClellan was advancing with an 
army of five thousand men from Clarksburg, on the 
turnpike, intending to attack Garnett early in the morn- 
ing where his works crossed the road, not deeming any 
other route up the mountain practicable. Had he car- 
ried his plan into execution, subsequent examination 
showed that no earthly power could have saved him and 
his army from certain defeat. The mountain was 
steep in front of the fortifications ; reconnoissance, 
except in force, was impossible ; and McClellan had 
determined to risk a battle directly on the road, where 
Garnett, without McClellan's knowledge, had rendered 
his defences impervious to any power that man could 
bring against him. 

Mr. Hart, whose farm is on the mountain, was a 
Union man, knew the ground occupied by Garnett, and 
had carefully examined his fortifications on the road 
coming up the mountain. Hearing that McClellan 
was advancing, and fearing that he might attempt to 
scale the works at the road, he sent his little son, 



64 STORIES OF ^ 



E CIVIL WAR 



Joseph Hart, in the night, to meet McClellan and 
inform him of the situation of affairs on the mountain. 
Joseph, being but a boy, got through the Confederate 
lines without difficulty, and, travelling the rest of the 
night and part of the next day, reached the advanced 
guard of the Union army, informed them of the object 
of his coming, and was taken under guard to the gene- 
ral's quarters. Young as he was, the Federal com- 
mander looked upon him with suspicion. He questioned 
him closely. Joseph related in simple language all his 
father had told him of Garnett's position, the number 
of his force, the character of his works, and the impos- 
sibility of successfully attacking him on the mountain 
in the direction he proposed. The general listened 
attentively to his simple story, occasionally interrupting 
him with, *' Tell the- truth, my boy." At each interrup- 
tion Joseph earnestly biit quietly would reply, " I am 
telling you the truth, general." ** But," says the latter, 
*' do you know, if you are not, you will be shot as a 
spy ? " "I am willing to be shot if all I say is not 
true," gently responded Joseph. *' Well," says the 
general, after being satisfied of the entire honesty of 
his little visitor, " if I cannot go up the mountain by 
the road, in what way am I to go up ? " Joseph, who 
now saw that he was believed from the manner of his 



HOW A BOY HELPED m'cLELLAN 65 

interrogator, said there was a way up the other side, 
leaving the turnpike just at the foot, and going round 
the base to where the laurel was. There was no road 
there, and the mountain was very steep ; but he had 
been up there ; there were but few trees standing, and 
none fallen down to be in the way. The laurel was 
very thick up the side of the mountain, and the top 
matted together so closely that a man could walk on 
the tops. The last statement of Joseph once more 
awakened a slight suspicion of General McClellan, who 
said sharply, '' Do you say men can walk on the tops of 
the laurel ? " " Yes, sir," said Joseph. " Do you think 
my army can go up the mountain over the tops of the 
laurel ? " '' No, sir," promptly answered Joseph ; " but 
/ have done so, and a man might if he would walk 
slowly and have nothing to carry." " But, my boy, 
don't you see, I have a great many men, and horses, 
and cannon to take up, and how do you think we could 
get up over that laurel .? " ''The trees are small ; they 
are so small you can cut them down, without making 
any noise, with knives and hatchets ; and they will not 
know on the top of the mountain what you are doing 
or when you are coming," promptly and respectfully 
answered Joseph, who was now really to be the leader 
of the little army that was to decide the political destiny 
of West Virginia. 



66 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

The Federal commander was satisfied with this ; and 
although he had marched all day, and intended that 
night to take the easy way up the mountain by the road, 
he immediately changed his plan of attack, and suddenly 
the army of the Union was moving away in the direc- 
tion pointed out by Joseph Hart. When they came to 
the foot of the mountain, they left the smooth and easy 
track of the turnpike, and with difficulty wound round 
the broad base of the mountain through ravines and 
ugly gorges, to the point indicated by the little guide. 
Here the army halted. McClellan and some of his 
staff, with Joseph, proceeded to examine the nature of 
the ground, and the laurel covering the mountain from 
its base to its summit. All was precisely as Joseph 
had described it in the general's tent on the Staunton 
pike ; and the quick eye of the hero of Rich Mountain 
saw at a glance the feasibility of the attack. It was 
past midnight when the army reached the foot of the 
mountain. Though floating clouds hid the stars, the 
night was not entirely dark, and more than a thousand 
knives and hatchets were soon busy clearing away 
the marvellous laurel. Silence reigned throughout the 
lines, save the sharp click of the small blades and the 
rustle of the falling laurel. Before daybreak the nar- 
row and precipitous way was cleared, and the work of 



HOW A BOY HELPED m'cLELLAN 6/ 

ascending commenced. The horses were tied at the 
foot of the mountain. The artillery horses were taken 
from the carriages. One by one the cannon were taken 
up the rough and steep side of the mountain by hand, 
and left within a short distance of the top, in such a 
situation as to be readily moved forward when the mo- 
ment of attack should arrive. The main army then 
commenced the march up by companies, many falling 
down, but suddenly recovering their places. The ascent 
was a slow and tedious one. The way was winding and 
a full mile. But before daybreak all was ready, and the 
Union cannon were booming upon and over the enemy's 
works, nearly in the rear, at an unexpected moment, and 
from an entirely unexpected quarter. They were thun- 
der-struck, as well as struck by shell and canister. 
They did the best they could by a feeble resistance, and 
fled precipitately down the mountain, pursued by the 
Federals to Cheat River, where the brave Garnett was 
killed. Two hundred brave men fell on the mountain, 
and were buried by the side of the turnpike, with no 
other sign of the field of interment than a long indenta- 
tion made by the sinking down of the earth in the line 
where the bodies lay at rest. 



6S - STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 



XII 

OLD ABE, THE SOLDIER BIRD 

One day, in the spring of 1 86 1, Chief Sky, a Chippewa 
Indian, living in the northern wilds of Wisconsin, captured 
an eagle's nest. To make sure of his prize, he cut the 
tree down, and caught the eaglets as they were sliding 
from the nest to run and hide in the grass. One died. 
He took the other home and built it a nest in a tree 
close by his wigwam. The eaglet was as big as a hen, 
covered with soft brown down. The red children were 
delighted with their new pet ; and as soon as it got ac- 
quainted it liked to sit down in the grass and see them 
play with the dogs. But Chief Sky was poor, and he 
had to sell it to a white man for a bushel of corn. The 
white man brought it to Eau Claire, a little village alive 
with men going to the war. " Here's a recruit," said 
the man. "An eagle, an eagle !" shouted the soldiers, 
**let him enlist;" and, sure enough, he was sworn into 
the service with ribbons, red, white, and blue, round his 
neck. 

On a perch surmounted by stars and stripes, the 



OLD ABE, THE SOLDIER BIRD 69 

company took him to Madison, the capital of the State. 
As they marched into camp, with colors flying, drums 
beating, and the people cheering, the eagle seized the 
flag in his beak and spread his wings, his bright eye 
kindling with the spirit of the scene. Shouts rent the 
air : " The bird of Columbia ! the eagle of freedom for- 
ever ! " The State made him a new perch, the boys named 
him " Old Abe," and the regiment, the Eighth Wisconsin, 
was henceforth called "the Eagle regiment." On the 
march it was carried at the head of the company, and 
everywhere was greeted with delight. At St. Louis, a 
gentleman offered five hundred dollars for it, and 
another his farm. No, no, the boys had no notion to 
part with their bird. It was above all price, an emblem 
of battle and of victory. Besides, it interested their 
minds, and made them think less of hardships and of 
home. 

I cannot tell you all the droll adventures of the bird 
through its three years of service, its flights in the air, 
its fights with the guinea-hens, and its race with the 
darkies. When the regiment was in summer quarters 
it was allowed to run at large, and every morning went 
to the river half a mile off, where it splashed and 
played in the water to its heart's content, faithfully re- 
turning to camp when it had enough. Old Abe's 



70 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

favorite place of resort was the sutler's tent, where a 
live chicken found no quarter in his presence. But 
rations got low, and for two days Abe had nothing to 
eat. Hard-tack he objected to, fasting was disagree- 
able, and Tom, his bearer, could not get beyond the 
pickets to a farmyard. At last, pushing his way to the 
colonel's tent, he pleaded for poor Abe. The colonel 
gave him a pass, and Tom got him an excellent dinner. 

One day a farmer asked Tom to come and show the 
eagle to his children. Satisfying the curiosity of the 
family, Tom set him. down in the barnyard. Oh, what 
a screeching and scattering among the fowls ; for what 
should Abe do but pounce upon one and gobble up 
another, to the great disgust of the farmer, who de- 
clared that was not the bargain. Abe thought, how- 
ever, there was no harm in confiscating, nor did Tom. 

He seemed to have sense enough to know that he was 
a burden to his bearer on the march. He would occa- 
sionally spread his wings and soar aloft to a great height, 
the men all along the line of march cheering him as he 
went up. He regularly received his rations from the 
commissary, the same as any enlisted man. Whenever 
fresh meat was scarce he would go on a foraging expedi- 
tion himself. He would be gone two or three days, but 
would always return, and generally with a young lamb 



OLD ABE, THE SOLDIER BIRD 7I 

or a chicken in his talons. However far he might fly 
in search of food, he was always sure to find his regi- 
ment again. In what way he distinguished the two 
armies so accurately that he was never known to mis- 
take the gray for the blue, no one can tell. But so it 
was, that he was never known to alight save in his own 
regiment, and amongst his own men. 

Abe was in twenty battles, besides many skirmishes. 
He was at the siege of Vicksburg, the storming of 
Corinth, and marched with Sherman up the Red River. 
The whiz of bullets and the scream of shell were his 
delight. As the battle grew hot and hotter, he would 
flap his wings and mingle his wildest notes with the 
noise around him. He was very fond of music, espe- 
cially " Yankee Doodle " and " Old John Brown." Upon 
parade, he always gave heed to "Attention." With his 
eye on the commander, he would listen and obey orders, 
noting time accurately. After parade he would put off 
his soldierly air, flap his wings, and make himself at 
home. The Confederates called him '' Yankee Buzzard," 
"Owl, Owl," and other hard names; but his eagle 
nature was quite above noticing it. 

The Confederate General Price gave orders to his 
men to be sure and capture the eagle of the Eighth 
Wisconsin. He would rather have it than a dozen 



72 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

battle-flags. But for all tnat he scarcely lost a feather, 
only one from his right wing. His tail feathers were 
once cropped by a bullet. 

The shield on which he was carried, however, showed 
so many marks of the enemy's bullets, that it looked 
on the top as if a groove plane had been run over it. 

At last the war came to an end, and the brave Wis- 
consin Eighth, with its live eagle and torn and riddled 
flags, was welcomed back to Madison. It went out a 
thousand strong, and returned a little band, scarred and 
toil-worn, having fought and won. 

And what of the soldier bird ? In the name of his 
gallant veterans he was presented to the State. The 
Governor accepted the illustrious gift, and ample quar- 
ters were provided for him in the beautiful State House 
grounds. 

Nor was the end yet. At the great fair in Chicago^ 
an enterprising gentleman invited '' Abe " to attend. He 
had colored photographs of the old hero struck off, and 
sold many thousands of dollars' worth for the benefit of 
poor and sick soldiers. 

At the centennial celebration, held in Philadelphia in 
1876, *'01d Abe" occupied a prominent place on his 
perch on the west side of the nave in the Agricultural 
Building. He was still alive, though evidently growing 



OLD ABE, THE SOLDIER BIRD 73 

old, and was the observed of all the observers. Thou- 
sands of visitors, from all sections of the country, paid 
their respects to the grand old bird. 

The soldier who had carried him during the war con- 
tinued to have charge of him after the war was over, 
until the day of Old Abe's death, which occurred in 
1881. 



74 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 



XIII 

A BOY'S EXPERIENCE AT THE BATTLE OF 
FREDERICKSBURG 

[From the " YotttJi's Companiony^ 

I WAS but seventeen years of age when I enlisted in 
a Maine regiment. We were not brought face to face 
with the enemy until December, 1862, when the great 
battle of Fredericksburg was fought. The morning of 
December 11 found us opposite Fredericksburg, which 
is situated on the south side of the Rappahannock River. 
We spent the entire day in watching our batteries 
throwing shells over into the burning city. With the 
aid of a glass we could see the enemy's works, stretch- 
ing far down the river. That night their camp-fires 
were plainly visible, and at times faint cheers were 
wafted to us on the evening breeze. 

The engineer corps was endeavoring to lay pontoon 
bridges for our army to cross upon. The Confederate 
sharp-shooters hotly contested the laying of the bridges, 
and many a poor fellow lost his life that day. But at 
last they were ready for us, and on the morning of the 



A BOY S EXPERIENCE AT FREDERICKSBURG 75 

1 2th, in a dense fog, we crossed over, about two miles 
below the city. Our supply of food was rather limited, 
and, warned by past experiences, I dined and supped on 
parched corn and hot coffee. I slept soundly upon the 
frozen ground that night, and long before daybreak the 
next morning the whole army was astir, and we had 
cooked and eaten a hasty breakfast. 

The Rappahannock River, upon whose banks we lay, 
runs in a south-easterly direction. Back a distance of 
about a mile rise the heights of Fredericksburg, at the 
foot of which runs the railroad to Richmond ; and 
behind the railroad embankment and upon the heights 
were intrenched the Confederates. About half-way 
between the heights and the river, and running nearly 
parallel with the latter, is the Bowling Green turnpike. 
The right of our line of battle extended above the city, 
but we were on the left. 

At sunrise our brigade began to move toward the 
turnpike. We had scarcely marched a dozen yards 
before the Confederates opened fire on us. I could not 
refrain from laughing aloud when I saw how nimbly the 
captain of my company, who had been under fire 
before, dodged the shells as they came over our heads, 
but I soon learned to do it myself, and then thought it 
no joke. We double-quicked to the turnpike, where we 



76 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

found shelter by lying flat upon our faces in a ditch, 
while the shells went bursting over us with such fright- 
ful noises that I hugged the earth for life. I know of 
no sound so horrible as the fiendish music which comes 
from the flying pieces of a burst shell. 

Our batteries replied to the fire with promptness and 
energy ; and the sharp and almost continuous rattle of 
musketry told us that the battle was in progress. Aids 
and mounted orderlies went dashing hither and thither 
in hot haste, bearing orders to the various commands, 
and generals with their staffs were gathered in groups 
anxiously scanning the Confederate movements through 
field-glasses. Great clouds of smoke settled over us, 
like that from a burning city, and half obscured the 
columns of men who were marching with quick step, 
and " swiftly forming in the ranks of war." Bugles 
blared and drums beat, and a little to my right and 
front, high above the din of battle, rose the shrill cry 
of some poor, wounded soul. 

The first one killed in our regiment was a noble 
young fellow from my company, who was struck in the 
back by a spent cannon-ball. We had time to dig him 
a shallow grave with our bayonets before we moved 
forward. 

A little after noon, word was given to prepare for the 



A BOY S EXPERIENCE AT FREDERICKSBURG // 

advance. Between us and the Confederates, a distance 
of nearly half a mile, lay an open, level field, where 
corn had been planted the preceding summer. The 
ground, frozen the night before, and thawed again at 
midday, was miry and treacherous, and we often sank 
half-way to our knees. At intervals deep ditches had 
once been dug for drainage. 

General R , commanding our brigade, rode down 

the line and gave us words of encouragement. 

''Boys," said he, ''don't dodge when" — but before 
he could finish the sentence a shell whizzed so close to 
his head that he himself dodged very emphatically. 

With a laugh he added, " But you may dodge when 
they come as close as that ! " 

Then we gave three cheers for our general, who, if 
he did dodge, was a brave and kind man. 

Now our line moved forward a dozen yards. 

"Halt ! Unsling knapsacks ! Fix bayonets ! '* 

Then I knew we were to fight the Confederates with 
cold steel. 

Down the line came the order again, " Forward ! " 
The bullets now began to sing angrily about our ears, 
and our men began to fall. The one with whom I 
touched elbows on my left was among the first victims. 
The ball entered his leg with a sickening "thud," 



y8 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

and he fell to the ground with a cry of " Oh, I'm 
shot!" 

The company to which I belonged was the "color 
company," and the two brave fellows who carried the 
flags, as soon as the order to move forward was given, 
stepped out of the ranks in advance of the others, and 
maintained that position during the charge. It was a 
daring deed, for the sharp-shooters always seek to pick 
off the color-bearers. 

Down to this time I had felt nervous; my knees 
trembled, and my legs were weak. I confess that I was 
afraid ; but being afraid, and yielding to fear, are two 
different things. When my mother bade me good-by, 
the day my regiment left for Washington, she said, " I 
shall expect always to hear that you have done your 
duty." The remembrance of her pale face was, of 
itself, enough to make one brave. But I needed no 
such incentive ; when I saw my comrades falling on 
every side, fear left me, and, young as I was, my anger 
was roused, and I believe I could have fought a whole 
army. 

Now came the order, *' Charge bayonets ! Forward, 
double-quick ! " We had a quarter of a mile of muddy 
ground to cross, and deep ditches to leap down into and 
clamber out of in the midst of a terrible fire. With 



A BOY S EXPERIENCE AT FREDERICKSBURG 79 

each advancing step, the fire of the Confederates in- 
creased, and the air was filled with bursting shells, grape 
and canister and rifle balls. So thickly did this deadly 
hail fall around us that the mud and dirt were con- 
stantly spattering in my face. Instinctively we bowed 
our heads to this fierce storm as we swept on. 

There were great gaps in our ranks, as our company, 
one after another, fell under the awful fire ; but there 
was no flinching, no hesitation, as with swift steps and 
stern faces we swept across the few remaining yards of 
ground between us and that long row of levelled rifles 
from which were belching forth death and destruction. 
With a wild, determined cry our regiment leaped upon 
them. There was only a brief struggle, when the Con- 
federates fell back up the heights, followed a short dis- 
tance by our troops. 

But I never reached the intrenchment myself. When 
we were almost upon it, and I was grasping my rifle 
firmly, expecting in a moment to use it, I found myself 
flat upon the ground, and heard the captain, as the com- 
pany passed over my body, shout, *' Lay low, boy ! ** 
Then I realized that I had been hit. For a few mo- 
ments I lay perfectly still ; then I determined to make 
a desperate effort to get off the field, for I feared our 
men might be driven back again. 



80 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

I dared not examine m}^oiind lest I should faint, 
and so fall into the hands of the Confederates. Finding 
that I could make some progress by using my rifle as a 
support, I slowly and painfully dragged myself to the 
rear. The battle was still raging behind me with un- 
abated force, and the shot and shells from our own, as 
well as the Confederate batteries, were passing over my 
head with a deafening noise. On every side lay the 
dead and wounded, and the groans and appeals for help 
were pitiful to hear. 

At last I reached the turnpike, and beneath its shel- 
ter I first examined the nature of my injury. I was 
overjoyed to find that the supposed wound was only a 
very severe bruise. An army cup which I carried on 
the outside, and a tin plate and my stock of hard bread 
which were inside my knapsack, had saved me. The 
force of the bullet was such that it had taken a piece 
clear out of the cup, which was made of thick mate- 
rial ; and it passed through the plate and the hard 
bread, and did not fairly enter my flesh. I still have 
the piece which was torn from my cup. 

I was sent to the hospital for a few days, until I could 
march again. 

As I had surmised, the survivors of our regiment 
were finally driven back from the position they had, at 



A boy's experience at FREDERICKSBURG 8 1 

SO fearful a cost, won. When the sixty rounds of 
ammunition which were in their cartridge-boxes had 
been fired away, and no fresh cartridges were sent, 
there was nothing left for them to do but to fall back. 

From the time our regiment left the turnpike, on the 
charge, until it returned, was, I think, hardly an hour. 
We started on with less than five hundred men, and in 
that brief time we lost, in killed, wounded, and missing, 
over two hundred and fifty, more than one-half. My 
own company lost thirty-three out of fifty. 

Some years ago I revisited the battle-field. The 
bodies of the fallen had been gathered into the soldiers' 
cemetery just back of the city, and near the deadly 
stone wall where the right of our army was engaged. I 
walked down the turnpike to where we fought. Nature 
had obliterated nearly every sign of the conflict, and 
the miry field across which we charged on that eventful 
December day was covered with waving corn. The sun 
shone as clearly, the birds sang as sweetly, and the 
flowers bloomed as brightly, as if that field had never 
been ploughed with shot and shell, and fertilized with 
the blood of brave men. 



82 



STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 



XIV 



THE STORY OF SHERIDAN'S FAMOUS RIDE 



The stirring lines of Buchanan Read's well-known 
poem called "Sheridan's Ride" are familiar as household 

words to the boys and 
girls of our day. This 
poem has been read 
and recited for many 
years by American 
school children. It 
has always been a 
favorite, for it records 
in verse the gallant 
deed of one of the 
most brilliant and suc- 
cessful generals in the 
war for the Union. 
The victory gained by General Sheridan at Cedar 
Creek, Va., October 19, 1864, surpassed in interest the 
victory gained precisely one month earlier at Winches- 
ter. It was a victory following upon the heels of 
apparent reverse, and therefore reflecting peculiar 




PHILIP H, SHERIDAN. 



Sheridan's famous ride 83 

credit on the brave commander to whose timely 
arrival upon the field the final success of the day must 
be attributed. 

The general was at Winchester in the early morning 
when the enemy attacked — twenty miles distant from 
the field of operations. General Wright was in com- 
mand. The enemy had approached under cover of a 
heavy fog, and, flanking the extreme right of the 
Federal line, held by General Crook's corps, and at- 
tacking in the centre, had thrown the entire line into 
confusion, and driven it several miles. The enemy 
was pushing on, turning against the Union forces a 
score of guns already captured from them. 

Sheridan's victorious and hitherto invincible army was 
routed and in disorderly retreat before a confident enemy. 
The roads were crowded with wagons and ambulances 
hurrying to the rear, while the fields were alive with 
wounded, stragglers, and disorganized troops without offi- 
cers, without arms, and without courage — all bent on 
being the first to carry the news of the disaster back to 
Winchester. 

" Up from the south, at break of day, 
Bringing to Winchester fresh dismay, 
The affrighted air with a shudder bore. 
Like a herukl in haste, to the chieftain's door, 
The terrible grumble and rumble and roar, 
Telling the battle was on once more, 
And Sheridan twenty miles away." 



84 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

A brave nucleus of the army, which had not shared 
in the surprise and subsequent demoralization, was 
fighting with determined pluck to prevent disaster from 
becoming disgrace. The universal thought, and, in 
varying phrase, the spontaneous utterance, was : " Oh, 
for one hour of Sheridan ! " But Sheridan was twenty 
miles away, at Winchester, where he had arrived the 
day before from Washington. 

At this juncture, those who were stationed near the 
Winchester pike heard, far to the rear, a faint cheer go 
up, as a hurrying horseman passed a group of wounded 
soldiers, and dashed down that historic road toward the 
line of battle. As he drew nearer, it was seen that the 
coal-black horse was flecked with foam, both horse and 
rider grimed with dust, and the dilated nostrils and 
laboring breath of the former told of a race both long 
and swift. 

" But there is a road to Winchester town, 
A good, broad highway, leading down ; 
And there, through the flush of the morning light, 
A steed, as black as the steeds of night. 
Was seen to pass as with eagle flight : 
As if he knew the terrible need, 
He stretched away with his utmost speed." 

A moment more, and a deafening cheer broke from 
the troops in that part of the field, as they recognized 



Sheridan's famous ride 85 

in the coming horseman the looked-for Sheridan. 
Above the roar of musketry and artillery, that shout 
arose like a cry of victory. The news flashed from 
brigade to brigade along the front with telegraphic 
speed ; and then, as Sheridan, cap in hand, dashed 
along the rear of the straggling line, thus confirming 
to all eyes the fact of his arrival, a continuous cheer 
burst from the whole army. Hope took the place of 
fear, courage the place of despondency, cheerfulness the 
place of gloom. The entire aspect of things seemed 
changed in a moment. Further retreat was no longer 
thought of. Order came out of chaos, an army out of a 
rabble. 

Sheridan's leadership perfectly restored the courage 
and spirit of the army. It had got over its panic, and 
was again ready for business. Generals rode out to 
meet him, officers waved their swords, and men threw 
up their caps. 

General Custer, discovering Sheridan at the moment 
he arrived, rode up to him, threw his arms around his 
neck, and kissed him on the cheek. Waiting for no 
other parley than simply to exchange greeting, and to 
say, " This retreat must be stopped ! " Sheridan broke 
loose and began galloping down the lines, along the 
whole front of the army. Everywhere the enthusiasm 
caused by his appearance was the same. 



86 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

" And the wave of retreat checked its course there, because 
The sight of the master compelled it to pause. 
With foam and with dust the black charger was gray. 
By the flash of his eye, and his red nostrils' play, 
He seemed to the whole great army to say : 
' I have brought you Sheridan, all the way 
From Winchester down, to save you the day ! '" 

The line was speedily reformed ; provost-marshals 
brought in stragglers by the scores ; the retreating 
army turned its face to the foe. An attack just about 
to be made by the latter was repulsed, and the tide of 
battle turned. Then Sheridan's time was come. A 
cavalry charge was ordered against right and left flank 
of the enemy, and then a grand advance of the three 
infantry corps from left to right on the enemy's centre. 
On through Middletown, and beyond, the Confederates 
hurried, and the Army of the Shenandoah pursued. 
The roar of musketry now had a gleeful, dancing sound. 
The guns fired shotted salutes of victory. Custer and 
Merritt, charging in on right and kft, doubled up the 
flanks of the foe, taking prisoners, slashing, killing, 
driving as they went. The march of the infantry was 
more majestic and terrible. The lines of the foe 
swayed and broke before it everywhere. Beyond 
Middletown, on the battle-field fought over in the morn- 
ing, their columns were completely overthrown and dis- 



Sheridan's famous ride 87 

organized. They fled along the pike and over the fields 
like sheep. 

Thus on through Strasburg with two brigades of cav- 
alry at their heels. Two thousand prisoners were 
gathered together, though there was not a sufficient 
guard to send them all to the rear. The guns lost in 
the morning were recaptured, and as many more taken, 
making fifty in all, and, according to Sheridan's report, 
the enemy reached Mount Jackson without an organized 
regiment. The scene at Sheridan's headquarters at 
night after the battle was wildly exciting. General 
Custer arrived about nine o'clock. The first thing he 
did was to hug General Sheridan with all his might, 
lifting him in the air, and whirling him around and 
around, with the shout : " God be praised, we've 
cleaned them out and got the guns ! " Catching sight 
of General Torbert, Custer went through the same 
proceeding with him, until Torbert was forced to cry 
out : "There, there, old fellow, don't capture me ! " 

Sheridan's ride to the front, October 19, 1864, will go 
down in history as one of the most important and thrill- 
ing events which have ever given interest to a battle 
scene. Stripped of all poetic gloss, and analyzed after 
more than a quarter of a century of peace, the result 
achieved by Sheridan's matchless generalship, after he 



88 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

reached his shattered army on the field of Cedar Creek, 
as an illustration of the wonderful influence of one man 
over many, and as an example of snatching a great 
victory from an appalling defeat, still stands without a 
parallel in history. 

" Hurrah, hurrah, for Sheridan ! 
Hurrah, hurrah, for horse and man ! 
And when their statues are placed on high, 
Under the dome of the Union sky — 
The American soldier's Temple of Fame — 
There with the glorious general's name, 
Be it said, in letters both bold and bright : 
' Here is the steed that saved the day 
By carrying Sheridan into the fight. 
From Winchester twenty miles away ! ' " 



THE CAVALRY CHARGE 89 



XV 

THE CAVALRY CHARGE 

With bray of the trumpet 

And roll of the drum, 
And keen ring of bugles, 

The cavalry come. 
Sharp clank the steel scabbards, 

The bridle-chains ring, 
And foam from red nostrils 

The wild chargers fling. 

Tramp ! tramp ! o'er the green sward 

That quivers below, 
Scarce held by the curb-bit, 

The fierce horses go ! 
And the grim-visaged colonel. 

With ear-rending shout. 
Peals forth to the squadrons 

The order, "Trot out !" 



90 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

One hand on the sabre, 

And one on the rein, 
The troopers move forward 

In line on the plain. 
As rings the word " Gallop ! " 

The steel scabbards clank, 
And each rowel is pressed 

To a horse's hot flank ; 
And swift is their rush 

As the wild torrent's flow, 
When it pours from the crag 

On the valley below. 

". Charge ! " thunders the leader. 

Like shaft from the bow 
Each mad horse is hurled 

On the wavering foe. 
A thousand bright sabres 

Are gleaming in air ; 
A thousand dark horses 

Are dashed on the square. 

Resistless and reckless 
Of aught may betide, 

Like demons, not mortals. 
The wild troopers ride. 



THE CAVALRY CHARGE gt 

Cut right ! and cut left ! 

For the parry who needs ? 
The bayonets shiver 

Like wind-shattered reeds ! 

Vain — vain the red volley 

That bursts from the square — 
The random-shot bullets 

Are wasted in air. 
Triumphant, remorseless, 

Unerring as death, — 
No sabre that's stainless 

Returns to its sheath. 

The wounds that are dealt 

By that murderous steel 
Will never yield case 

For the surgeons to heal. 
Hurrah ! they are broken — 

Hurrah ! boys, they fly — 
None linger save those 

Who but linger to die. 

Rein up your hot horses, 

And call in your men ; 
The trumpet sounds *' Rally 

To color" again. 



92 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

Some saddles are empty, 
Some comrades are slain, 

And some noble horses 
Lie stark on the plain ; 

But war's a chance game, boys, 
And weeping is vain. 



THE DESTRUCTION OF THE ALBEMARLE 93 



XVI 

THE DESTRUCTION OF THE ALBEMARLE 

One of the most daring and successful exploits of 
the late war was performed by a brave and intrepid 
young naval officer. To Lieutenant William B. Gush- 
ing was due the destruction of the famous Confederate 
ram called the Albemarle. This powerful ironclad had 
become a formidable obstruction to the occupation of 
the North Carolina sounds by the Union forces. 

During the summer of 1864, Lieutenant Cushing, 
commanding the Monticello, one of the sixteen vessels 
engaged in watching the ram, conceived the plan of 
destroying their antagonist by means of a torpedo. 
Upon submitting the plan to Rear-Admiral Lee and the 
Navy Department, he was detached from his vessel, 
and sent to New York to provide the articles necessary 
for his purpose, and, these preparations having been at 
last completed, he returned again to the scene of action. 
His plan was to affix his newly contrived torpedo appa- 
ratus to one of the picket launches — little steamers 
not larger than a seventy-four's launch, but fitted with 



94 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

a compact engine, and designed to relieve the seamen 
of the fatigue of pulling about at night on the naval 
picket line — and of which half a dozen had been then 
recently built. Under Lieutenant Cushing's super- 
vision, picket launch No. i was supplied with the tor- 
pedo, which was carried in a basket, fixed to a long 
arm, which could be propelled, at the important mo- 
ment, from the vessel, in such a manner as to reach the 
side of the vessel to be destroyed, there to be fastened, 
and exploded at the will of those in the torpedo boat, 
without serious risk to themselves. Having prepared 
his boat, he selected thirteen men, six of whom were 
officers, to assist him in the undertaking. His first at- 
tempt to reach the Albemarle failed, as his boat got 
aground and was only with difficulty released. On the 
following night, however, he again set out upon his 
perilous duty, determined and destined this time to 
succeed. Moving cautiously, with muffled oars, up the 
narrow Roanoke, he skilfully eluded the observation of 
the numerous forts and pickets with which that river 
was lined, and, passing within twenty yards of a picket 
vessel, without detection, he soon found himself abreast 
of the town of Plymouth. The night was very dark 
and stormy, and, having thus cleared the pickets, the 
launch crossed to the other side of the river, opposite 



THE DESTRUCTION OF THE ALBEMARLE 95 

the town, and, sweeping round, came down upon the 
Albemarle from up the stream. The ram was moored 
near a wharf, and, by the light of a large campfire on 
the shore. Gushing saw a large force of infantry, and 
also discerned that the ironclad was protected by a 
boom of pine logs which extended about twenty feet 
from her. The watch on the Albemarle knew nothing 
of his approach till he was close upon them, when they 
hailed, ''What boat is that.?" and were answered, 
*' The Albemarle's boat ; " and the same instant the 
launch struck, "bows on," against the boom of logs, 
crushing them in about ten feet, and running its bows 
upon them. She was immediately greeted with a heavy 
and incessant infantry fire from the shore, while the 
ports of the Albemarle were opened, and a gun trained 
upon the daring party. Gushing promptly replied with 
a dose of canister, but the gallant young fellow had 
enough for one man to manage. He had a line at- 
tached to his engineer's leg, to pull in lieu of bell 
signals ; another line to detach the torpedo, and 
another to explode it ; besides this, he managed the 
boom which was to place the torpedo under the vessel, 
and fired the howitzer with his own hand. But he 
coolly placed the torpedo in its place and exploded it. 
At the same moment he was struck on the right wrist 



96 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

with a musket ball, and a shell from the Albemarle 
went crashing through the launch. The whole affair 
was but the work of a few minutes. Each man had 
now to save himself as best he might. Gushing threw 
off his coat and shoes, and, leaping into the water, struck 
out for the opposite shore ; but, the cries of one of his 
drowning men attracting the enemy's fire, he turned 
down the stream. The water was exceedingly cold, and 
his heavy clothing rendered it very difficult for him to 
keep afloat ; and after about an hour's swimming he went 
ashore, and fell exhausted upon the bank. On coming 
to his senses, he found himself near a sentry and two 
officers, who were discussing the affair, and heard them 
say that Gushing was dead. Thinking that he had 
better increase the distance between the rebels and 
himself, he managed to shove himself along on his 
back, by working with his heels against the ground, 
until he reached a place of concealment. 

After dark, he proceeded through the swamp for some 
distance, lacerating his feet and hands with the briers 
and oyster shells. He next day met an old negro whom 
he thought he could trust. The negro was frightened 
at Gushing's wild appearance, and tremblingly asked 
who he was. *'I am a Yankee," replied Gushing, "and 
I am one of the men who blew up the Albemarle." 



'M^'^M 




'""•" -*f*::jLiAt«ifc'.itt' ". 



THE DESTRUCTION OF THE ALBEMARLE 9/ 

" My golly, massa!" said the negro, " dey kill you if 
dey catch you ; you dead gone sure ! " Gushing asked 
him if he could trust him to go into the town and bring 
him back the news. The negro assented, and Gushing 
gave him all the money he had and sent him off. He 
then climbed up a tree and opened his jack-knife, the 
only weapon he had, and prepared for any attack which 
might be made. 

After a time the negro came back, and, to Gushing's 
joy, reported the Albemarle sunk and the people leav- 
ing the town. Gushing then went farther down the 
river, and found a boat on the opposite bank belonging 
to a picket guard. He once more plunged into the 
chilly river and detached the boat, but, not daring to 
get into it, left it drift down the river, keeping himself 
concealed. At last, thinking he was far enough away 
to elude observation, he got into the boat and paddled 
for eight hours until he reached the squadron. After 
hailing them, he fell into the bottom of the boat, utterly 
exhausted by hunger, cold, fatigue, and excitement, to 
the surprise of the people in the squadron, who were 
somewhat distrustful of him when he first hailed, think- 
ing him a rebel who was trying some trick. 

Nothing, indeed, but an overruling Providence and an 
iron will ever saved Gushing from death. He saw two 



98 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

of his men drown, who were stronger than he, and said 
of himself that when he paddled his little boat his arms 
and his will were the only living parts of his organization. 

One man of the party returned, having been picked 
up after he had travelled across the country and been 
in the swamps nearly two days. 

But one or two were wounded, and the larger part 
were captured by the rebels, being unable to extricate 
themselves from their perilous position among the logs 
of the boom, under the guns of the ram. The Albe- 
marle had one of her bows stove in by the explosion of 
the torpedo, and sank at her moorings within a few mo- 
ments, without loss of life to her crew. Her fate 
opened the river to the Union forces, who quickly occu- 
pied Plymouth; the North Carolina sounds were again 
cleared from rebel craft, and the large fleet of vessels 
which had been occupied in watching the ironclad were 
released from that arduous duty. 

Lieutenant Gushing, to whose intrepidity and skill 
the country was indebted for this and many other dash- 
ing exploits, was engaged in thirty-five naval combats 
during the war. What a glorious record for a young 
man twenty-three years old ! He died at the age of 
thirty-two, the youngest officer of his rank in the United 
States Navy. 



THE FINAL STRUGGLE AT GETTYSBURG 99 



XVII 

THE FINAL STRUGGLE AT GETTYSBURG 

[Froj?i Henry Ward Beecher^s "JVorwoociy'\ 

On the third day of July, 1863, and the third of the 
complex battle of Gettysburg, General Lee, having in 
vain assaulted the left of the Union line on the day 
before, determined to break through the centre, and 
at the same time to' enlarge the hold which he had 
secured upon the extreme Union right, on the eastern 
slope of Gulp's Hill. But by four in the morning Gen- 
eral Meade attacked the intrusive forces which had 
thus, while yesterday's battle raged on the extreme left, 
as it were, stolen in on the right, and by eleven o'clock 
they were driven out, thus anticipating and defeating 
Lee's intention of turning the Union right. 

A wonderful silence now came over the vast battle- 
field and brooded for the space of two hours. Birds sang 
again, though the ground beneath them was covered 
with unburied men. The rustling of leaves could be 
heard once more by the men who lay resting under the 
trees. But the very silence, that usually brings all 



lOO STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

thoughts of peace, now sharpened men's fears. It was 
like that dreadful calm which precedes the burst of 
storms. Just such it was. At one o'clock it was 
broken by an uproar as wonderful as had been the 
silence. Two hundred and thirty-five cannon joined in 
a clangor of death, such as had never been heard upon 
this continent. Lee had concentrated a hundred and 
forty-five guns over against the centre of Cemetery 
Ridge, and Meade replied with eighty guns — all that 
could be well placed in his narrower space. The other 
battle before seemed noiseless compared with this 
immense cannonading. The slopes of Oak Ridge and 
the swells upon the further side of the valley seemed 
on fire. Each little hill-top became a volcano. From 
the right, from the left, from the centre, battery upon 
battery, and parks of batteries flamed and thundered. 
The smoke rolled up white and bluish gray, as storm- 
clouds lift and roll up the sides of mountains. From 
every direction came the flying missiles — cross-plough- 
ing Cemetery Hill with hideous furrows, in which to 
plant dead men. Shot flew clear over the ridge — cais- 
sons sheltered behind the hill were reached and blown 
up. Horses standing harnessed to reserved artillery, in 
places before secure, were smitten down. Strange was 
the discordant music of the missile sounds, for which 



THE FINAL STRUGGLE AT GETTYSBURG lOI 

there were no pauses, that filled the air. Some went 
hissing, some flew with muffled growl, some shook out 
a gushing sound like the rush of waters ; some carried 
with them an intense and malignant howl ; some spit 
and sputtered in a spiteful manner ; others whirred or 
whistled, or spun threads of tenor or treble sounds. 
But, whatever the variety in this awful aerial music, all 
meant death. If a thousand meteors had burst, and 
each one flung down shattered masses of meteoric stone, 
it would have scarcely seemed more like a deluge of 
iron rain than now it did. Orderlies and aids found the 
roads and fields on the far side of the hill, safe before, 
now raining with bullets. Meade's headquarters were 
riddled, and his staff driven to another quarter. In 
half an hour all the fields were cleared and the men 
were under cover. Fortunately, the enemy's artillery 
was elevated too much. The Union soldiers escaped 
with comparatively little harm, while the reverse of the 
hill was excoriated with shot and shell. In the burial- 
ground on the head of Cemetery Ridge, projecting 
toward the village of Gettysburg, fell the iron hail, 
rending the graves and splintering the monuments. 
Flowers growing on graves were rudely picked by 
hurtling iron. Soldiers who had fallen at Fair Oaks, 
and had been brought here for burial, far away from all 



102 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

thought of battle, in this quiet Pennsylvania vale, were 
still pursued by war, which rudely tore up their graves ; 
and they heard again the thunder of battle swelling 
above these resting-places, where, it would seem, they 
should have found quiet. 

When it had thundered and rained iron for more than 
two hours, there came moving across the valley fifteen 
thousand men to take possession of that ridge ! As 
they moved from afar the Union artillery smote them ; 
but they did not heed it. As they drew near, still rent 
by shot and shell, — earnest, eager, brave, — there burst 
upon their right flank a fire of musketry and artillery 
that quite crumpled up and swung back their men upon 
their centre. Next, their left wing was utterly riddled 
and routed by the sharpness of the musketry ; and what 
part was not captured fled and escaped. But the mass- 
ive centre, with men as brave as ever faced death, stern, 
headlong, pushed right up to General Hancock's lines, 
and across them, but could come no further ! Like a 
ship whose impetus carried it far up upon a shoal, from 
which it cannot recede when it would, several brigades 
had shot, by the terrible momentum, so far up that 
when from the slopes of the cemetery, and from the 
artillery on Meade's left wing, they were enfiladed, while 
Hancock, with fresh brigades drawn from his left, met 



THE FINAL STRUGGLE AT GETTYSBURG IO3 

them in front with a fire that pierced like a flame, they 
yielded themselves up. They had gotten the hill for 
which they came, but not as victors. The rest shrunk, 
driven backward, sharply raked with artillery and 
scorched with sheets of musketry, got them out of the 
battle, and fled across the valley to their lines, whence 
they should come no more out hitherward. Many that 
longed to go with them lay with pitiful wounds. A 
thousand that an hour before were fierce in ambitious 
expectation, now and never more cared what befell 
them, nor what happened under the sun ! When the 
sun went down on that 3d of July, the Union army, a 
mighty sufferer in more than twenty thousand slain and 
wounded men, yet had never such cause of rejoicing for 
the coming anniversary day as now, when all those 
thousands of men joyfully had died or suffered wounds 
to preserve that nation's life whose birthday is cele- 
brated on the Fourth of July ! 

The morning of Saturday, the Fourth of July, rose fair 
over Gettysburg. Ewell's corps of Lee's army with- 
drew from the town, and Howard's troops immediately 
took possession. 

There was great joy throughout the Union army. 
Officers congratulated each other ; the men were raised 
to the proudest exultation. The Army of the Potomac, 



104 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

the victim of misfortunes, but always a model of in- 
domitable patience, had at length met their great 
antagonist in a long and severe fight, and thoroughly- 
defeated him. While all were exhilarated with the 
immediate victory, the thoughtful men of the army 
experienced a deeper gladness in their prescience 
of the scope of this victory in its relation to public 
affairs. The climax was reached. Henceforward the 
Confederate cause was subject to decline, weakness, 
and extinction. 



LINCOLN S GETTYSBURG SPEECH I05 



XVIII 
LINCOLN'S GETTYSBURG SPEECH 

When Abraham Lincoln had gained the people's ear, 
men noticed that he scarcely made a speech or wrote a 
state paper in which there was not an illustration or a 
quotation from the Bible. He had been thoroughly 
instructed in it by his mother. It was the one book 
always found in the pioneer's cabin, and to which she, 
being a woman of deep religious feeling, turned for 
sympathy and guidance. Out of it she taught her boy 
to spell and read, and with its poetry, histories, and 
principles she so familiarized him that they always 
influenced his subsequent life. 

In the good President's religious faith two leading 
ideas were prominent from first to last — man's help- 
lessness, both as to strength and wisdom, and God's 
helpfulness in both. 

To a friend who anxiously asked him in the dark 
days of 1862: ''Do you think we shall succeed.?" he 
said, "I believe our cause is just; I believe that we 
shall conquer in the end. I should be very glad to take 



I06 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

my neck out of the yoke and go back to my old home 
and my old life at Springfield. But it has pleased 
Almighty God to place me in this position ; and, looking 
up to Him for support, I must discharge my destiny as 
best I can." 

The words of Lincoln seemed to grow more clear and 
more remarkable as they approached the end. His last 
inaugural was characterized by a solemn religious tone, 
peculiarly free from earthly passion. Listen to his 
words : " With malice toward none, with charity for all, 
with firmness in the right, as God gives us to see the 
rio^ht, let us strive on to finish the work we are in, to bind 
up the nation's wounds, to care for him who shall have 
borne the battle, and for his widow and orphans, to do 
all which may achieve and cherish a just and a lasting 
peace among ourselves and with all nations." 

Perhaps in no language, ancient or modern, are any 
number of words found more touching and eloquent 
than his speech of November 19, 1863, at the Gettys- 
burg celebration. 

He wrote it in a few moments on being told that he 
would be expected to make some remarks. After 
Edward Everett had delivered his masterly oration. 
President Lincoln rose and read the following brief 
address : — 



LINCOLN S GETTYSBURG SPEECH I07 

" Fourscore and seven years ago, our fathers brought 
forth upon this continent a new nation, conceived in 
liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men 
are created equal. We are engaged in a great civil war, 
testing whether that nation — or any nation so con- 
ceived and so dedicated — can long endure. We are met 
on a great battle-field of that war. We are met to 
dedicate a portion of that field as the final resting-place 
of those who here gave their lives that that nation 
might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we 
should do this. But, in a larger sense, we cannot dedi- 
cate, we cannot consecrate, we cannot hallow this 
ground. The brave men, living and dead, who strug- 
gled here, have consecrated it far above our power to 
add or detract. The world will little note, nor long 
remember, what we say here ; but it can never forget 
what they did here. 

" It is for us, the living, rather to be dedicated here 
to the unfinished work which they have thus far so 
nobly carried on. It is rather for us to be here dedi- 
cated to the great task remaining before us ; that from 
these honored dead we take increased devotion to that 
cause for which they here gave the last full measure of 
devotion ; that we here highly resolve that these dead 
shall not have died in vain ; that this nation shall, under 



I08 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

God, have a new birth of freedom ; and that govern- 
ment of the people, by the people, for the people, shall 
not perish from the earth." 

The audience admired Everett's long address, but at 
Mr. Lincoln's few and simple words they cheered, and 
sobbed, and wept. When the President had ended, he 
turned and congratulated the distinguished orator from 
the Old Bay State on having succeeded so well. Mr. 
Everett replied with a truthful and real compliment : 
" Ah, Mr. Lincoln, how gladly would I exchange all my 
hundred pages, to have been the author of your twenty 
lines." Time has tested the strength of this short, 
simple address. After more than a quarter of a cent- 
ury, its glowing words are still being committed to 
memory by young people throughout our broad land. 



THE BLACK REGIMENT IO9 



XIX 

THE BLACK REGIMENT 

[Geo7-£e H. Boker. Po7't Hudson^ La., June ^ 1863.] 

Dark as the clouds of even, 
Ranked in the western heaven, 
Waiting the breath that Hfts 
All the dread mass, and drifts 
Tempest and falling brand 
Over a ruined land ; — 
So still and orderly, 
Arm to arm, knee to knee, 
Waiting the great event. 
Stands the Black Regiment. 

Down the long dusky line 
Teeth gleam and eyeballs shine ; 
And the bright bayonet, 
Bristling and firmly set. 
Flashed with a purpose grand, 
Long ere the sharp command 



no STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

Of the fierce rolling drum 
Told them their time had come, 
Told them what work was sent 
For the Black Regiment. 

'* Now," the flag-sergeant cried, 
'' Though death and hell betide, 
Let the whole nation see 
If we are fit to be 
Free in this land ; or bound 
Down, like the whining hound, — 
Bound with red stripes of pain 
In our old chains again ! " 
Oh, what a shout there went 
From the Black Regiment ! 

" Charge ! " Trump and drum awoke, 
Onward the bondmen broke ; 
Bayonet and sabre-stroke 
Vainly oppose their rush. 
Through the wild battle's crush, 
With but one thought aflush. 
Driving their lords like chaff. 
In the guns' mouths they laugh ; 
Or at the slippery brands 
Leaping with open hands. 



THE BLACK REGIMENT HI 

Down they tear man and horse, 
Down in their awful course ; 
Trampling with bloody heel 
Over the crashing steel, 
All their eyes forward bent, 
Rushed the Black Regiment. 

"Freedom ! " their battle-cry — 
" Freedom ! or leave to die ! " 
Ah ! and they meant the word, 
Not as with us 'tis heard, 
•Not a mere party shout : 
They gave their spirits out ; 
Trusted the end to God, 
And on the gory sod 
Rolled in triumphant blood. 

Glad to strike one free blow. 
Whether for weal or woe ; 
Glad to breathe one free breath, 
Though on the lips of death. 
Praying — alas ! in vain ! — 
That they might fall again. 
So they could once more see 
That burst to liberty ! 
This was what ** freedom " lent 
To the Black Regiment. 



12 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

Hundreds on hundreds fell ; 
But they are resting well ; 
Scourges and shackles strong 
Never shall do them wrong. 

Oh, to the living few, 
Soldiers, be just and true ! 
Hail them as comrades tried ; 
Fight with them side by side ; 
Never, in field or tent. 
Scorn the Black Regiment. 



TWO SCOUTS WHO HAD NERVES OF STEEL II3 



XX 

TWO SCOUTS WHO HAD NERVES OF STEEL 

The scout must be a man with a cool head, resolute 
will, and nerves of steel. Such a man was a scout 
named Hancock, attached to General Grant's army in 
Virginia. He was captured as a spy and sent to Castle 
Thunder in Richmond. This bold scout was remark- 
able for his facial expression and powers of mimicry. 
He was a jolly fellow, and often relieved the monotony 
of prison life with merry song and dances. 

One evening, while singing a song for the amuse- 
ment of his fellow-prisoners, he suddenly stopped, threw 
up his hands, staggered, and then fell like a bag of sand 
to the floor. 

There was great confusion among the men, and as 
some of them inspected the body and pronounced it 
without life, the guards were notified of what had oc- 
curred. 

The post surgeon was called in to say whether it was 
a faint or a case of sudden death. It happened that he 
had just come in from a long, cold ride, and he was 



114 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

tired and in a hurry to get to his quarters, so his exam- 
ination was hardly more than a look at the man. 

*' Dead ! " he said, as he rose up, and in the course of 
twenty minutes the body was deposited in a wagon to 
be sent to the hospital, and there laid in a cheap coffin 
and forwarded to the burying-place. 

When the driver reached the end of his journey the 
body was gone ! 

There was no tail-board to his vehicle, and, thinking 
he might have jolted the body out on the way, he drove 
back and made inquiry of several persons if they had 
seen a lost corpse anywhere. 

Hancock's " sudden death " was a part of his plan to 
make an attempt to escape. While he had great nerve 
and an iron will, his being so quickly passed by the sur- 
geon was a surprise to him, for he knew he could hardly 
have passed under less favorable circumstances. 

On the way to the hospital he had dropped out of the 
wagon and joined the pedestrians on the walk. When 
the driver returned to the Castle and told his story, a 
detail of men was at once sent out to capture the tricky 
prisoner, and the alarm was given. 

To leave the city was to be picked up by a patrol ; to 
remain in it was to be hunted down. Hancock had 
money sewed in the lining of his vest, and he walked 



TWO SCOUTS WHO HAD NERVES OF STEEL II5 

straight to the best hotel, registered himself as from 
Georgia, and took a good night's sleep. 

In the morning he procured a'change of clothing, and 
sauntered around the city with the greatest unconcern, 
carrying the idea to some that he was in Richmond on 
a government contract, and to others that he was in the 
secret service of the Confederacy. 

Shortly after dinner he was arrested on Main Street 
by a squad of provost troops, who had his description 
to a dot. But no sooner had they put hands on him 
than the prisoner was seen to be cross-eyed and to have 
his mouth drawn to one side. 

The men were bewildered, and Hancock was feeling 
for "letters to prove his identity," when the hotel- 
clerk happened to pass and at once secured his liberty. 

Four days after his escape from the Castle, the scout 
found himself out of money, and while in the corridor 
of the post-office he was again arrested. 

This time he drew his mouth to the right, brought a 
squint to his left eye, and pretended to be very deaf. 
He was, however, taken to the Castle, and there a won- 
derful thing occurred. 

Guards who knew Hancock's face perfectly well were 
so confused by his squint that no man dared give a cer- 
tain answer. 



Il6 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

Prisoners who had been with him for four months 
were equally at fault, and it was finally decided to lock 
him -up and investigate his references. 

For seven long days the scout kept his mouth twisted 
around and his eye on the squint, and then he got tired 
of it and resumed his accustomed phiz. 

The minute he did this he was recognized by every- 
body, and the Confederates admired his nerve and per- 
severance fully as much as did his fellow-prisoners. 

The close of the war gave him his liberty with the 
rest, but ten days longer would have seen him shot as a 
spy. 

Scout number two was on the Confederate side. He 
is now a leading clergyman in Virginia. His life was 
one of daring adventure and hairbreadth escapes. 
Once upon a time, the house in which he was hid was 
surrounded by a detachment of Union soldiers. The 
scout took in everything at a glance and determined to 
try to cut his way through the soldiers and risk the 
chances. But the ladies represented to him that this 

was certain death. They could conceal him, and S 

assented. 

The young ladies acted promptly. One ran to the 
window and asked who was there, while another closed 
the back door — that in front being already fastened. 



TWO SCOUTS WHO HAD NERVES OF STEEL 11/ 

S was then hurried up the staircase, one of the 

ladies accompanying him to show him his hiding-place. 

The Federal troops became impatient. The door was 
burst in and the troopers swarmed into the house. 

S had been conducted to a garret bare of all fur- 
niture, but some planks lay upon the sleepers of the 
ceiling, and by lying down on these a man might con- 
ceal himself. He mounted quietly and stretched him- 
self at full length, and the young lady returned to the 
lower floor. From his perch the scout then heard all 
that was said in the hall beneath. 

-Where is the guerilla?" exclaimed the Federal 

officer. 

*<What guerilla.?" asked one of the ladies. 

"The rascal S ." 

" He was here, but he has gone." 

" That is untrue," the officer said, '' and I am not to 
be trifled with. I shall search this house. But first 
read the orders to the men," he added, turning to a 

sergeant. 

The sergeant obeyed, and S distinctly overheard 

the reading of his death-warrant. The paper chronicled 
his exploits, denounced him as a guerilla and bush- 
whacker, and directed that he should not be taken alive. 

This was not reassuring to the scout concealed under 



Il8 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

the rafters above. It wa^^robable that he would be 
discovered, in which case death would follow. 

There was but one thing to do — to sell his life dearly. 
After ransacking every room on the first and second 
floors, the troops ascended to the garret. The ladies 
had attempted to divert their attention from it, but one 
of them asked, — 

" What room is that up there } " 

"The garret," was the reply. 

" He may be there — show the way." 

" You see the way," returned the young lady. *' I do 
not wish to go up in the dust ; it would soil my dress." 

" You go before, then," said the trooper to a negro 
girl who had been made to carry a lighted candle, for 
night had come now. 

The girl laughed and said, there was nobody up 
there, but at the order went up-stairs to the garret, fol- 
lowed by the troopers. 

S heard the tramping feet, and cocked both his 

pistols. The light streamed into the garret, and he saw 
the garret filled with troopers. His discovery seemed 
certain. He was about to spring down and fire, when 
the men growled, — 

** There's nothing here," and went down the stairs 
again. 



TWO SCOUTS WHO HAD NERVES OF STEEL I I9 

The servant girl had saved him by a ruse. She had 
taken her stand directly beneath the broad plank upon 

which S was extended, and the deep shadow had 

concealed him. To this ruse he doubtless owed his life. 
An hour afterward the Federal detachment left in ex- 
treme ill-humor, and before morning S was miles 

away from the dangerous locality where he had over- 
heard his sentence of death. 



120 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 



XXI 

THE CLOTHES-LINE TELEGRAPH 

In the early part of 1863, when the Union army was 
encamped at Fahnouth, and picketing the banks of the 
Rappahannock, the utmost tact and ingenuity were dis- 
played by the scouts and videttes, in gaining a knowl- 
edge of contemplated movements on either side ; and 
here, as at various other times, the shrewdness of the 
colored camp-followers was remarkable. 

One circumstance in particular shows how quick 
the race is in learning the art of communicating by 
signals. 

There came into the Union lines a negro from a farm 
on the other side of the river, known by the name of 
Dabney, who was found to possess a remarkably clear 
knowledge of the topography of the whole region ; and 
he was employed as cook and body-servant at head- 
quarters. When he first saw our system of army tele- 
graphs, the idea interested him intensely, and he begged 
the operators to explain the signs to him. They did so, 
and found that he could understand and remember the 



THE CLOTHES-LINE TELEGRAPH 121 

meaning of the various movements as well as any of 
his brethren of paler hue. 

Not long after, his wife, who had come with him, ex- 
pressed a great anxiety to be allowed to go over to the 
other side as servant to a " secesh woman," whom Gen- 
eral Hooker was about sending over to her friends. 
The request was granted. Dabney's wife went across 
the Rappahannock, and in a few days was duly installed 
as laundress at the headquarters of a prominent rebel 
general. Dabney, her husband, on the north bank, was 
soon found to be wonderfully well informed as to all the 
Confederate plans. Within an hour of the time that a 
movement of any kind was projected, or even discussed, 
among the Confederate generals, Hooker knew all about 
it. He knew which corps was moving, or about to move, 
in what direction, how long they had been on the march, 
and in what force ; and all this knowledge came through 
Dabney, and his reports always turned out to be true. 

Yet Dabney was never absent, and never talked with 
scouts, and seemed to be always taken up with his 
duties as cook and groom about headquarters. 

How he obtained his information remained for some 
time a puzzle to the Union officers. At length, upon 
much solicitation, he unfolded his marvellous secret to 
one of the officers. 



122 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

Taking him to a point wfrcre a clear view could be 
obtained of Fredericksburg, he pointed out a little 
cabin in the suburbs near the river bank, and asked him 
if he saw that clothes-line with clothes hanging on it to 
dry. '' Well," he said, " that clothes-line tells me in half 
an hour just what goes on at Lee's headquarters. You' 
see my wife over there ; she washes for the officers, and 
cooks, and waits around, and as soon as she hears about 
any movement or anything going on, she comes down 
and moves the clothes on that line so I can understand 
it in a minute. That there gray shirt is Longstreet ; 
and when she takes it off it means he's gone down 
about Richmond. That white shirt means Hill ; and 
when she moves it up to the west end of the line, Hill's 
corps has moved up-stream. That red one is Stonewall 
Jackson. He's down on the right now, and if he moves 
she will move that red shirt." 

One morning Dabney came in and reported a move- 
ment over there. "But," said he, *'it don't amount to 
anything. They are just making believe." 

An officer went out to look at the clothes-line tele- 
graph through his field-glass. There had been quite a 
shifting over there among the army flannels. " But 
how do you know but there is something in it ? " 

"Do you see those two blankets pinned together at the 



THE CLOTHES-LINE TELEGRAPH I23 

bottom ? " said Dabney. ** Yes ; but what of it ? " said 
the officer. '' Why, that's her way of making a fish- 
trap ; and when she pins the clothes together that way, 
it means that Lee is only trying to draw us into his 
fish-trap." 

As long as the two armies lay watching each other on 
opposite sides of the stream, Dab'ney, with his clothes- 
line telegraph, continued to be one of the promptest 
and most reliable of General Hooker's scouts. 



124 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 



XXII 
COMBAT BETWEEN THE KEARSARGE AND ALABAMA 

During the war, the Confederates, with the aid of the 
British ship-builders, sent out several j^owerful vessels 
which played sad havoc with American merchantmen 
and whalers. These vessels were furnished with the 
best cannon known and the most improved shells. The 
most famous of these privateers was the Alabama, 
which captured sixty-five vessels, and destroyed many 
million dollars' worth of property. She was built in 
PZngland, and, notwithstanding the protest of the 
American Minister, was allowed to go to sea in July, 
1862. She sailed for the Azores under the name of the 
290. She was supplied with her armament and stores 
by another British ship, and, shortly after putting to sea, 
Semmes, the former captain of the privateer Sumter, 
appeared on deck in full uniform as her captain. 

After these long years it is not easy to realize the 
dismay excited among our merchants by the singularly 
successful career of the famous Alabama. After cap- 
turing and burning many vessels, she returned to 



COMBAT BETWEEN THE KEARSARGE AND ALABAMA 125 

Europe in the summer of 1864, and went into a French 

"""Let me now tell you of the memorable naval contest 
between the United States vessel Kearsarge, Captain 
John A Winslow, and the Alabama, Captain Raphael 
Semmes, on the morning of June 19, 1864, off Cher- 
bourg, France, which ended the career of the famous 
Confederate privateer. 

The Kearsarge was lying at Flushing, Holland, when 
a telegram came from Mr. Dayton, the American Mm- 
ister in Paris, stating that the Alabama had arrived at 
Cherbourg. The Kearsarge immediately put to sea, 
and arrived at Cherbourg in quick time, taking the Ala- 
bama quite by surprise by so sudden an appearance on 
her track. Through the consular agent there a sort of 
challenge was received by Captain Winslow from Cap- 
tain Semmes, the latter stating that if the Kearsarge 
remained off the port he would come out and fight her, 
and that he would not detain the vessel long. 

After cruising off the port for five days, until the 
19th of June, Captain Winslow, at twenty minutes after 
ten o'clock, descried the starry ensign of the Alabama 
floating in the breeze, as she came boldly out of the 
western entrance, under the escort of the French iron- 
clad Couronne. The latter retired into port after see- 



126 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

ing the combatants outside of French waters. Captain 
Winslow had previously had an interview with the 
admiral of Cherbourg, assuring him that in the event 
of an action occurring with the Alabama, the position 
of the ship should be so far off shore that no question 
would be advanced about the line of jurisdiction. 

The Alabama came down at full speed until within a 
distance of about three-quarters of a mile, when she 
opened her guns on the Kearsarge. The Kearsarge 
made no reply for some minutes, but ranged up nearer, 
and then opened her starboard battery, fighting six guns 
and leaving only one thirty-two-pounder idle. The 
Alabama fought seven guns, working them with the 
greatest rapidity, sending shot and shell in a constant 
stream over her adversary. Both vessels used their 
starboard batteries, the ships being manoeuvred in a 
circle about each other at a distance of from five hun- 
dred to one thousand yards. Seven complete circles 
were made during the combat, which lasted a little over 
one hour. At the last of the action, when the Alabama 
would have made off, she was near five miles from the 
shore ; and, had the combat continued from the first in 
parallel lines, with her head in-shore, the line of juris- 
diction would, no doubt, have been reached. From the 
first, the firing of the Alabama was rapid and wild ; 



COMBAT BETWEEN THE KEARSARGE AND ALABAMA 12/ 

towards the close of the action her firing became 
better. The Kearsarge gunners, who had been cau- 
tioned against firing rapidly without direct aim, were 
much more deliberate ; and the instructions given to 
point the heavy guns below rather than above the water 
line, and clear the deck with hghter ones, was fully ob- 
served. 

Captain Winslow had endeavored, with a port helm, 
to close in with the Alabama ; but it was not until just 
before the close of the action that she was in position 
to use grape. This was avoided, however, by the Ala- 
bama's surrender. The effect of the training of the 
Kearsarge's men was evident ; nearly every shot from 
the guns told fearfully on the Alabama, and on the 
seventh rotation in the circular track she winded, set- 
ting fore -trysail and two jibs, with head in-shore. Her 
speed was now retarded, and by winding, her port broad- 
side was presented to the Kearsarge, with only two 
guns bearing, having been able to shift over but 
one. Captain Winslow now saw that she was at his 
mercy, and a few more guns, well directed, brought 
down her flag, though it was difficult to ascertain 
whether it had been hauled down or shot away ; but a 
white flag having been displayed over the stern, the fire 
of the Kearsarge was reserved. 



128 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

Two minutes had not more than elapsed before the 
Alabama again opened fire on the Kearsarge, with the 
two guns on the port side. This drew Captain Winslow's 
fire again, and the Kearsarge was immediately steamed 
ahead and laid across her bows for raking. The white 
flag was still flying and the Kearsarge's fire was again 
reserved. Shortly after this, her boats were to be seen 
lowering, and an ofiicer in one of them came alongside 
and stated that the ship had surrendered and was fast 
sinking. In twenty minutes from this time the Ala- 
bama went down, her mainmast, which had been shot, 
breaking near the head as she sunk, and her bow rising 
high out of the water, as her stern rapidly settled. 

A few years after the war, as you will read in your 
text-book of history, a court of arbitration decreed that 
Great Britain should pay ^15,500,000 to the United 
States for permitting the Confederate cruisers to fit 
out in the English ports. These claims are commonly 
called the Alabama claims, from the name of the Con- 
federate vessel which did the most harm to our 
shipping. 



THE MESSAGE OF LIFE 1 29 



XXIII 

THE MESSAGE OF LIFE 
\F}'Ofn The Youth'' s Companion. 1 

Twenty-five years ago I was one of many witnesses 
of a scene that left a deep impression upon my memory. 
The sequel of the story, which I learned some months 
afterward, is narrated here with the principal event. 

It was in February, 1865. I was a staff-officer of a 
division of the Union army stationed about Winchester, 
Virginia. I had succeeded in getting leave of absence 
for twenty days. Reaching Harper's Ferry by rail 
after dark, I found, to my great disappointment, that 
the last train for the day for Baltimore had left, and 
that the next train would start at five o'clock on the 
following morning. I gave a small reminder to the 
negro servant at the hotel, and received his solemn 
promise that he would arouse me at four o'clock. It 
must have been two o'clock when sleep visited my 
weary eyes. A rude disturbance at my door awakened 
me, and I became dimly conscious of the voice of the 
negro outside. 



130 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

" What is it ? " I cried testily. " What do you wake 
me up for at this time of night ? " 

"'Deed, sah, Ise sorry ; 'pon my honah, I is, sah ! but 
de train hab done gone dese two hours." 

It was even so. Broad dayh'ght — seven o'clock in 
the morning — the train gone, and no chance to get out 
of Harper's Ferry till twelve more precious hours of my 
leave had passed — this was the unpleasant situation to 
which I awoke upon that dreary February morning. 
Breakfast over, I strolled around the queer old place 
merely to while away the time. 

I went back to the hotel after an hour's stroll, wrote 
some letters, read all the newspapers I could find about 
the place, and shortly after eleven o'clock went out 
again. This time my ear was greeted with the music 
of a band, playing a slow march. Several soldiers were 
walking briskly past, and I inquired of them if there 
was to be a military funeral. 

*' No, sir," one of them replied ; " not exactly. It is 
an execution. Two deserters from one of the artillery 
regiments here are to be shot up on Bolivar Heights. 
Here they come ! " 

The solemn strains of the music were heard near at 
hand, and the cortege moved into the street where we 
stood, and wound slowly up the hill. First came the 



THE MESSAGE OF LIFE I3I 

band ; then General Stevenson, the military command- 
ant of the post, and his staff ; then the guard, preced- 
ing and following an ambulance, in which were the 
condemned men. A whole regiment followed, marching 
by platoons, with reversed arms, making in the whole a 
spectacle than which nothing can be more solemn. 

Close behind it came, as it seemed to me, the entire 
population of Harper's Ferry : a motley crowd of sev- 
eral thousand, embracing soldiers off duty, camp-fol- 
lowers, negroes, and what not. It was a raw, damp 
day, not a ray of sunlight had yet penetrated the thick 
clouds, and underfoot was a thin coating of snow. 

The spot selected for the dreadful scene was rather 
more than a mile up the heights, where a high ridge of 
ground formed a barrier for bullets that might miss 
their mark. Arrived here, the troops were formed in 
two large squares of one rank each, one square within 
the other, with an open face towards the ridge. Two 
graves had been dug near this ridge, and a coffin was 
just in the rear of each grave. Twenty paces in front 
was the firing party of six files, under a lieutenant, at 
ordered arms ; the general and his staff sat on their 
horses near the centre. 

Outside the outer square, the great crowd of specta- 
tors stood in perfect silence. The condemned men had 



132 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

been brought from the amDulance, and each one sat on 
his coffin, with his open grave before him. 

They were very different in their aspect. One, a 
man of more than forty years, showed hardly a trace of 
feehng in his rugged face ; but the other was a mere 
lad of scarcely twenty, who gazed about him with a 
wild, restless look, as if he could not yet understand 
that he was about to endure the terrible punishment of 
his offence. 

The proceedings of the court-martial were read, 
reciting the charges against these men, their trial, con- 
viction, and sentence ; and then the order of General 
Sheridan approving the sentence, ''to be shot to death 
with musketry," and directing it to be carried into 
effect at twelve o'clock, noon, of this day. 

A chaplain knelt by the condemned men and prayed 
fervently, whispered a few words in the ear of each, 
wrung their hands, and retired. Two soldiers stepped 
forward with handkerchiefs to bind the eyes of the suf- 
ferers, and I heard the officer of the firing party give 
the command in a low tone, — 

'' Attention ! — shoulder — arms ' " 

I looked at my watch ; it was a minute past twelve. 
The crowd outside had been so perfectly silent that a 
flutter and disturbance running through it at this 



THE MESSAGE OF LIFE 133 

instant fixed everybody's attention. My heart gave a 
great jump as I saw a mounted orderly urging his horse 
through the crowd, and waving a yellow envelope over 
his head. 

The square opened for him, and he rode in and 
handed the envelope to the general. Those who were 
permitted to see that despatch read the following : 

Washington, D. C, February 23, 1865. 
General Job Stevenson, Harper's Ferry, — Deserters re- 
prieved till further orders. Stop the execution. 
^ A. Lincoln. 

The older of the two men had so thoroughly resigned 
himself to his fate that he seemed unable now to realize 
that he was saved, and he looked around him in a dazed, 
bewildered way. 

Not so the other ; he seemed for the first time to 
recover his consciousness. He clasped his hands 
together, and burst into tears. As there was no mili- 
tary execution after this at Harper's Ferry, I have no 
doubt that the sentence of both was finally commuted. 

Powerfully as my feelings had been stirred by this 
scene, I still suspected that the despatch had, in fact, 
arrived before the cortege left Harper's Ferry, and that 
all that happened afterward was planned and intended 
as a terrible lesson to these culprits. 



134 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

That afternoon I visited General Stevenson at his 
headquarters, and, after introducing myself and refer- 
ring to the morning's scene, I ventured frankly to state 
my suspicions, and ask if they were not well founded. 

" Not at all," he instantly replied. '* The men would 
have been dead had that despatch reached me two 
minutes later. In order to give the fellows every possi- 
ble chance for their lives, I left a mounted orderly at 
the telegraph office, with orders to ride at a gallop if a 
message came for me from Washington. It is well I 
did! — the precaution saved their lives." 

How the despatch came to Harper's Ferry must be 
told in the words of the man who got it through. 

THE telegrapher's STORY. 

On the morning of the 24th of February, 1865, I 
was busy at my work in the Baltimore telegraph office, 
sending and receiving messages. At half-past ten 
o'clock — for I had occasion to mark the hour — the 
signal C — A — L, several times repeated, caused me 
to throw all else aside and attend to it. 

That was the telegraphic cipher of the War Depart- 
ment ; and telegraphers, in those days, had instructions 
to put that service above all others. A m.essage was 
quickly ticked off from the President to the commanding 



THE MESSAGE OF LIFE 135 

officer at Harper's Ferry, reprieving two deserters who 
were to be shot at noon. The message was dated 
the day before, but had in some way been detained 
or delayed between the Department and the Wash- 
ington office. 

A few words to. the Baltimore office, which accom- 
panied the despatch, explained that it had " stuck " at 
Baltimore, that an officer direct from the President was 
waiting at the Washington office, anxious to hear that 
it had reached Harper's Ferry, and that Baltimore must 
send it on instantly. 

Baltimore would have been very glad to comply ; but 
the line to Harper's Ferry had been interrupted since 
daylight ; nothing whatever had passed. So I explained 
to Washington. 

The reply came back before my fingers had left the 
instrument. " You must get it through. Do it, some 
way, for Mr. Lincoln. He is very anxious ; has just 
sent another messenger to us." 

I called the office superintendent to my table, and 
repeated these despatches to him. He looked at the 
clock. 

"Almost eleven," he said. "I see just one chance 

a very slight one. Send it to New York : ask them 

to get it to Wheeling, and then it may get through by 



136 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

Cumberland and Martinsbu^. Stick to 'em, and do 
what you can." 

By this time I had become thoroughly aroused in the 
business, and I set to work with a will. The despatch 
with the explanation went to New York, and promptly 
came the reply that it was hopeless ; the wires were 
crowded, and nothing could be done till late in the after- 
noon, if then. 

I responded just as Washington had replied to me: 
It must be done ; it is a case of life and death ; do it 
for Mr. Lincoln's sake, who is very anxious about it. 
And I added for myself, by way of emphasis : For 
God's sake, let's save these poor fellows ! 

And I got the New- York people thoroughly aroused, 
as I was myself. The answer came back, **Will do 
what we can." 

It was now ten minutes past eleven. In ten minutes 
more I heard from New York that the despatch had got 
as far as Buffalo, and could not go direct to Wheeling ; 
it must go on to Chicago. 

Inquiries from Washington were repeated every five 
minutes, and I sent what had reached me. 

Half-past eleven, the despatch was at Chicago, 
and they were working their best to get it to 
Wheeling. 



THE MESSAGE OF LIFE 137 

Something was the matter ; the Wheeling office did 
not answer. 

The next five minutes passed without a word ; then 
— huzza ! — New York says the despatch has reached 
WheeHng, and the operator there says he can get it 
through to Harper's Ferry in time. 

At this point the news stopped. New York could 
learn nothing further for me, after several efforts, and 
I could only send to Washington that I hoped it was 
all right, but could not be sure. Later in the day the 
line was working again to Harper's Ferry, and then I 
learned that the despatch had reached the office there 
at ten minutes before twelve, and that it was brought to 
the place of execution just, in time. 



138 



STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 



XXIV 

SHERMAN STARTS ON HIS MARCH TO THE SEA 

[From General Shermaii's ^^ Personal Alemoirs.'"^ 

About seven o'clock, on the morning of November 
1 6, 1864, we rode out of Atlanta by the Decatur road, 

filled by the marching 
troops and wagons of the 
Fourteenth Corps ; and 
reaching the hill, just out- 
side of the old Confederate 
works, we naturally paused 
to look back upon the 
scenes of our last battles. 
We stood upon the very 
ground where was fought 
the bloody battle of July 
22, and could see the copse 
of wood where McPherson fell. Behind us lay Atlanta, 
smouldering and in ruins, the black smoke rising high in 
the air, and hanging like a pall over the city. Away off 
in the distance, on the McDonough road, was the rear 




WILLIAM T. SHERMAN. 




mm* » 



SHERMAN STARTS ON HIS MARCH TO THE SEA 1 39 

of Howard's column, the gun-barrels glistening in the 
sun, the white-topped wagons stretching away to the 
south ; and right before us the Fourteenth Corps, 
marching steadily and rapidly with a cheery look and 
swinging pace, that made light of the thousand miles 
that lay between us and Richmond. Some band, by 
accident, struck up the anthem of *' John Brown's soul 
goes marching on," the men caught up the strain, and 
never, before or since, have I heard the chorus of 
'* Glory, glory, hallelujah ! " done with more spirit, or in 
better harmony of time and place. 

Then we turned our horses' heads to the east. 
Atlanta was soon lost behind the screen of trees, and 
became a thing of the past. Around it clings many a 
thought of desperate battle, of hope and fear, that now 
seems like the memory of a dream ; and I have never 
seen the place since. The day was extremely beautiful, 
clear sunlight, with bracing air; and an unusual feeling 
of exhilaration seemed to pervade all minds, a feeling of 
something to come, vague and undefined, still full of 
venture and intense interest. Even the common sol- 
diers caught the inspiration, and many a group called 
out to me as I worked my way past them, *' Uncle 
Billy, I guess Grant is waiting for us at Richmond !" 
Indeed the general sentiment was that we were march- 



I40 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

ing for Richmond, and that there we should end the 
war ; but how and when they seemed to care not, nor 
did they measure the distance, or count the cost in life, 
or bother their brains about the great rivers to be 
crossed, and the food required for man and beast, that 
had to be gathered by the way. There was a " devil- 
may-care " feeling pervading officers and men, that 
made me feel the full load of responsibility, for success 
would be accepted as a matter of course, whereas, 
should we fail, this "march" would be adjudged the 
wild adventure of a crazy fool. I had no purpose to 
march direct for Richmond by way of Augusta and 
Charlotte, but always designed to reach the seacoast 
first at Savannah or Port Royal, South Carolina, and 
even kept in mind the alternative of Pensacola. 

The first night out we camped by the roadside. 
Stone Mountain, a mass of granite, was in plain view 
cut out in clear outline against the blue sky ; the whole 
horizon was lurid with the bonfires of rail-ties, and 
groups of men all night were carrying the heated rails 
to the nearest trees and bending them around the 
trunks. Colonel Foe had provided tools for ripping up 
the rails and twisting them when hot ; but the best and 
easiest way is the one I have described, of heating the 
middle of the iron rails on bonfires made of the cross- 



* 
SHERMAN STARTS ON HIS MARCH TO THE SEA I4I 

ties, and then winding them around a telegraph-pole or 
the trunk of some convenient sapling. I attached much 
importance to this destruction of the railroad, gave it 
my own personal attention, and made reiterated orders 
to others on the subject. 

The next day we passed through the handsome town 
of Covington, the soldiers closing up their ranks, the 
color-bearers unfurling their flags, and the bands strik- 
ing up patriotic airs. The white people came out of 
their houses to behold the sight, spite of their deep 
hatred of the invaders, and the negroes were simply 
frantic with joy. Whenever they heard my name, they 
clustered about my horse, shouted and prayed in their 
peculiar style, which had a natural eloquence that would 
have moved a stone. I have witnessed hundreds, if not 
thousands, of such scenes, and can now see a poor girl, 
in the very ecstasy of hugging the banner of one of the 
regiments. 

I remember, when riding around by a by-street in 
Covington to avoid the crowd that followed the march- 
ing column, that some one brought me an invitation to 
dine with a sister of Sam Anderson, who was a cadet 
at West Point with me ; but the messenger reached me 
after we had passed the main part of the town. I 
asked to be excused, and rode on to a place designated 



142 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

for camp about four miles to The east of the town. 
Here we made our bivouac, and I walked up to a plan- 
tation-house close by, where were assembled many 
negroes, among them an old, gray-haired man, with as 
fine a head as I ever saw. I asked him if he under- 
stood about the war and its progress. He said he did ; 
that he had been looking for the "angel of the Lord" 
ever since he was knee-high, and, though we professed 
to be fighting for the Union, he supposed that slavery 
was the cause, and that our success was his freedom. 
I asked him if all the negro slaves comprehended this 
fact, and he said they did surely. I then explained 
to him that we wanted the slaves to remain where they 
were and not to load us down with useless mouths, 
which would eat up the food needed for our fighting 
men ; that our success was their assured freedom ; that 
we could receive a few of their young, hearty men as 
pioneers ; but that, if they followed us in swarms of old 
and young, feeble and helpless, it would simply load us 
down and cripple us in our great task. I believe that 
old man spread this message to the slaves, which was 
carried from mouth to mouth, to the very end of our 
journey, and that in part saved us from the great dan- 
ger we incurred of swelling our numbers so that famine 
would have attended our progress. It was at this very 



SHERMAN STARTS ON HIS MARCH TO THE SEA I43 

plantation that a soldier passed me with a ham on his mus- 
ket, a jug of sorghum molasses under his arm, and a big 
piece of honey in his hand, from which he was eating, and, 
catching my eye, he remarked sctto voce and carelessly to 
a comrade, " Forage liberally on the country," quoting 
from my general orders. On this occasion, as on many 
others that fell under my personal observation, I re- 
proved the man, explained that foraging must be limited 
to the regular parties properly detailed, and that all 
provisions thus obtained must be delivered to the regu- 
lar commissaries to be fairly distributed to the men who 
kept their ranks. 



144 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 



XX \^ 

SHERMAN'S MARCH TO THE SEA 
[By Samitel H. M. Byers.'] 

[This popular song was written while its author was a prisoner at Columbia, 
S. C. Of its origin he says : " There are hundreds of old comrades who remem- 
ber the afternoon in the prison-pen at Columbia when our glee club said, ' Now we 
are going to sing something about Billy Sherman ! ' and with what rousing cheers 
the song and the writer were welcomed. The Confederate officers ran in to see 
what was loose among the prisoners, and they, too, had music in their souls, and 
said if the glee club would sing ' Dixie Land' they might sing 'Sherman's March 
to the Sea' also; and so for weeks our glee club — the only sunshine we had in 
prison — made the old barrack walls ring with songs of the blue and the gray."] 

Our campfires shone bright on the mountain 

That frowned on the river below, 
As we stood by our guns in the morning, 

And eagerly watched for the foe ; 
When a rider came out of the darkness 

That hung over mountain and tree, 
And shouted, "Boys, up and be ready! 

For Sherman will march to the sea ! '* 

Then cheer upon cheer for bold Sherman 

Went up from each valley and glen, 
And the bugles re-echoed the music 

That came from the lips of the men ; 
For we knew that the stars in our banner 

More bright in their splendor would be. 
And that blessings from Northland would greet us 

When Sherman marched down to the sea. 



Sherman's march to the sea 145 

Then forward, boys ! forward to battle ! 
■ We marched on our wearisome way, 
We stormed the wild hills of Resaca — 

God bless those who fell on that day ! 
Then Kenesaw, dark in its glory, 

Frowned down on the flag of the free ; 
But the East and the West bore our standard, 

And Sherman marched on to the sea. 

Still onward we pressed, till our banners 

Swept out from Atlanta's grim walls, 
And the blood of the patriot dampened 

The soil where the traitor flag falls ; 
We paused not to weep for the fallen 

Who slept by each river and tree. 
Yet we twined them a wreath of the laurel. 

As Sherman marched down to the sea. 

Oh, proud was our army that morning. 

That stood where the pine darkly towers, 
When Sherman said, ''Boys, you are weary, 

But to-day fair Savannah is ours ! " 
Then sang we the song of our chieftain, 

That echoed o'er river and lea, 
And the stars in our banner shone brighter 

When Sherman marched down to the sea. 



146 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 



XXVI 

THE PERILS OF A SPY'S LIFE 

The life of a spy is one full of peril and hardship. 
The danger incurred is often more serious and personal 
than that of the battle-field. He is sent by his supe- 
riors to discover, if possible, the enemy's plans, in 
order to thwart them. The spy goes to his duty fully 
aware of the possibilities in store for him. If the 
enemy catches him, he knows that in a few hours his 
dead body will dangle from a tree. Listen to the story 
of the narrow escape of one of the most daring spies 
of the Arjny of the Potomac. 

"It was a dark night. Not a star on the glimmer. I 
had collected my bits of intelligence, and was on the 
move for the Union lines. I was approaching the 
banks of a stream whose waters I had to cross, and had 
then some miles to traverse before I could reach the 
pickets of our gallant troops. A feeling of uneasiness 
began to creep over me ; I was on the outskirt of a 
wood fringing the dark waters at my feet, whose pres- 
ence could scarcely be detected but for their sullen 



THE PERILS OF A SPY's LIFE- I47 

murmurs as they rushed through the gloom. The wind 
sighed in gentle accordance. I walked forty or fifty 
yards along the bank. I then crept on all fours along 
the ground, and groped with my hands. I paused — I 
groped again — my breath thickened, perspiration oozed 
from me at every pore, and I was prostrated with hor- 
ror ! I had missed my landmark, and knew not where 
I was. Below or above, beneath the shelter of the 
bank, lay the skiff I had hidden ten days before. 

"As I stood gasping for breath, with all the unmis- 
takable proofs of my calling about me, the sudden cry 
of a bird or plunging of a fish would act like mag- 
netism on my frame, not wont to shudder at a shadow. 
No matter how pressing the danger may be, if a man 
sees an opportunity for escape, he breathes with free- 
dom. But let him be surrounded by darkness, impene- 
trable at two yards' distance, within rifle's length of 
concealed foes, for what knowledge he has to the con- 
trary ; knowing, too, with painful accuracy, the detec- 
tion of his presence would reward him with a sudden 
and violent death ; and if he breathes no faster, and 
feels his limbs as free and his spirits as light as when 
taking a favorite promenade, he is more fitted for a 
hero than I am. 

'' In the agony of that moment — in the sudden and 



148 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

utter helplessness I felt to discover my true bearings — 
I was about to let myself gently into the stream, and 
breast its current, for life or death. There was no 
alternative. The Union pickets must be reached in 
safety before the morning broke, or I should soon 
swing between heaven and earth, from some green limb 
of the black forest in which I stood. 

'' At that moment the low, sullen bay of a blood- 
hound struck my ear. The sound was reviving — the 
fearful stillness broken. The uncertain dread flew 
before the certain danger. I was standing to my 
middle in the shallow bed of the river, just beneath the 
jutting banks. After a pause of a few seconds I began 
to creep mechanically and stealthily down the stream, 
followed, as I knew from the rustling of the grass and 
frequent breaking of twigs, by the bloodthirsty dog ; 
although, by certain uneasy growls, I felt assured he 
was at fault. Something struck against my breast. I 
could not prevent a slight cry from escaping me, as, 
stretching out my hand, I grasped the gunwale of a boat 
moored beneath the bank. Between surprise and joy I 
felt half choked. In an instant I had scrambled on 
board, and began to search for the painter in the bow, 
in order to cast her from her fastenings. 

" Suddenly, a bright ray of moonlight — the first 



THE PERILS OF A SPY S LIFE I49 

gleam of hope in that black night — fell directly on the 
spot, revealing the silvery stream, my own skiff (hidden 
there ten days before), lighting the deep shadows of the 
verging wood, and, on the log half buried in the bank, 
and from which I had that instant cast the line that had 
bound me to it, the supple form of the crouching blood- 
hound, his red eyes gleaming in the moonlight, jaws 
distended, and poising for the spring. With one dart 
the light skiff was yards out in the stream, and the 
savage after it. With an oar I aimed a blow at his head, 
which, however, he eluded with ease. In the effort thus 
made the boat careened over towards my antagonist, 
who made a desperate effort to get his forepaws over 
the side, at the same time seizing the gunwale with his 
teeth. 

''Now was the time to get rid of my canine foe. 
I drew my revolver, and placed the muzzle between his 
eyes, but hesitated to fire, for that one report might 
bring on me a volley from the shore. Meantime, the 
strength of the^ dog careened the frail craft so much 
that the water rushed over the side, threatening to 
swamp her. I changed my tactics, threw my revolver 
into the bottom of the skiff, and, grasping my ' bowie,' 
keen as a Malay creese, and glittering, as I released it 
from the sheath, like a moonbeam on the stream, in 



150 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

an instant I had severed the sinewy throat of the hound, 
cutting through brawn and muscle to the nape of the 
neck. The tenacious wretch gave a wild, convulsive 
leap half out of the water, then sank, and was gone. 

" Five minutes' pulling landed me on the other side 
of the river, and in an hour after, without further acci- 
dent, I was among friends, encompassed by the Union 
lines. That night I related at headquarters the intelli- 
gence I had gathered." 

Not often does the spy escape from his enemies 
so easily. A staff officer thus describes the death 
of a spy, who had been caught by one of General Cus- 
ter's officers in a village near Cedar Creek, Virginia: 

*' 'What's the matter ? ' said I to Custer, who was sit- 
ting with his staff round the campfire. ' You seem sad.' 

" ' I have reason to be. I fear we have a disagreeable 
duty to perform. You know we captured a man in the 
village.' 

" ' Yes. What of him .? ' 

'''Only that my adjutant-general has just recognized 
him as one of the Confederate guards who escorted him 
and other Federals when they were taken prisoners. 
He has gone with two other officers, who were captured 
at the same time, to see the prisoner.' 



THE PERILS OF A SPY S LIFE I5I 

" * You think, then, the fellow is a spy ? ' 

"* That's just it ; and a dangerous one, too, judging 
from his looks.' 

" At that moment the three officers came up to make 
their report. 

*' ' Well, gentlemen/ said Custer, ' what do you think 
of the prisoner } ' 

*''We all recognized him as one of our old guards,' 
said the adjutant. 

" < Very well, gentlemen,' said Custer slowly. * The 
evidence seems to be clear. Adjutant, order the pris- 
oner to be brought before me.' 

** The prisoner was brought up between two sentries. 
* My man, we think you are a spy,' said General Custer, 
in a quiet voice. ' What have you to say to the 
charge ? ' 

" ' There's a woman here from the village,' replied 
the man, ' and she'll tell you I am her son. I live in 
the village. Does that make me a spy ? ' 

" An elderly woman, evidently in some terror, came 
forward. 

" ' Is this man your son ? ' 

'' 'Yes, he is.' 

'"How long has he been in the village ? * 

" 'Ever since last spring.' 



152 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

"'Does he belong to the Smithern army? ' 

"'I diinno.' 

"At this moment an orderly handed the adjutant-gen- 
eral a bundle, and whispered a word in his ear. Quietly 
unrolling it, the adjutant brought out a Confederate uni- 
form. 

" ' General,' said he, ' this uniform was found in the 
woman's house where we captured the prisoner.' 

" A sudden flash in the man's face, a swift look of 
anger, and a glance between him and the woman 
was the only answer either made to the announce- 
ment. 

"'That will do; remove the woman,' said Custer 
gravely. 

"The woman gazed for a moment into the face of the 
prisoner, but it was evident that she was not his mother. 
She made no effort to bid him farewell. 

" ' My man, it's a clear case. You are a soldier of the 
Confederate army, and inside our lines in disguise. 
You are therefore a spy. It is my duty to inform you 
that you must die.' 

" * Die .'* What ! without a trial } ' exclaimed the 
startled prisoner. 

" 'You have just been tried. I, as a United States 
general, have condemned you as a spy. You die at 



THE PERILS OF A SPy's LIFE 1 53 

eight to-morrow morning. I will send the chaplain to 
you, and I hope you will prepare to meet your fate.* 

"At the appointed hour the next morning the poor 
fellow was brought out and hanged, in the presence of 
the entire brigade." 



154 



STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 



XXVII 

HOW ADMIRAL FARRAGUT WAS LASHED TO THE 
RIGGING 

Some day you will read all about the brilliant naval 
fight for the possession of Mobile Bay. The brave 

Admiral Farragut had de- 
termined to make the at- 
tempt on Thursday, August 
4, 1864, but was delayed 
because one of his ironclads 
did not arrive. The vessel 
arrived at sunset, and Far- 
ragut gave orders for the 
fleet to move at sunrise. 
The day opened with a 
dense fog which hid the 
forts in the bay, and made 
the great men-of-war and 
black ironclads look like so many phantoms. The 
fog soon lifted, and at an early hour the whole fleet 
was under way. Now was fought one of the most 
brilliant naval contests of modern times. By this vic- 




DAVID G. FARRAGUT. 



HOW FARRAGUT WAS LASHED TO THE RIGGING I55 

tory the port of Mobile was closed against blockade- 
runners. 

During the fight an incident happened which caught 
the public fancy at the time, and has since become fixed 
in the popular mind as an incident of deep historical 
interest for all time. 

At the beginning of the action, Admiral Farragut 
was standing in the main port rigging, which position 
enabled him to overlook the other vessels of the fleet. 
It also gave him command of both his own flagship and 
the Metacomet. The latter vessel was lashed on to the 
port side of the Hartford, for the purpose of carrying 
the flagship inside the bay in case her machinery should 
be disabled. A slight breeze was blowing the smoke 
from the Union guns on to Fort Morgan. Soon the 
smoke gradually obscured the admiral's view, and he 
almost unconsciously climbed the rigging, ratline by 
ratline, in order to see over it, until finally he found 
himself in shrouds, some little distance below the 
main-top. Here he could lean either backward or for- 
ward in a comfortable position, having the free use of 
both hands for his spyglass, or any other purpose. 
Captain Drayton, commanding the Hartford, also chief 
of staff to the admiral, becoming anxious lest even a 
slight wound, a blow from a splinter, or the cutting 



156 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

away of a portion of the rigging, might throw his chief 
to the deck, sent the signal-quartermaster aloft with a 
small rope to secure him to the rigging. The admiral 
at first declined to allow the quartermaster to do this, 
but quickly admitted the wisdom of the precaution, and 
himself passed two or three turns of the rope around 
his body. The admiral remained aloft until after the 
flagship had passed Fort Morgan. 

After the passage of the forts was accomplished and 
the vessels were anchored, the Confederate ram Ten- 
nessee was seen to be moving out from under the guns 
of Fort Morgan. Captain Drayton reported this fact 
to the admiral, stating that Buchanan, the Confederate 
admiral, was going outside to destroy the outer fleet. 
The admiral immediately said, " Then we must follow 
him out ! " though he suspected that Buchanan, be- 
coming desperate, had made up his mind to sink or 
destroy the flagship Hartford, and do as much injury as 
possible before losing his own vessel. Soon after this 
remark, Farragut said, " No ! Buck's coming here. Get 
under way at once ; we must be ready for him." 

Of the desperate fight which now took place we may 
learn mere details at some future time. After a fierce 
contest, the great ram, the pride and boast of the Con- 
federate navy, and under the command of Buchanan, 




FARRAGUT LASHED TO THE RIGGING 



HOW FARRAGUT WAS LASHED TO THE RIGGING 1 5/ 

the commander of the Merrimac in the fight with the 
Monitor, was forced to surrender. 

The fact that the admiral was lashed in the main 
rigging during the fight gave him a great reputation 
throughout the country. Farragut was amused and 
amazed at the notoriety of the incident. When a comic 
picture of the scene, in one of the illustrated papers, 
came to hand a few days after the battle, the admiral 
said to Captain Drayton in conversation, " How curi- 
ously some trifling incident catches the popular fancy. 
My being in the main rigging was a mere incident, 
owing to the fact that I was driven aloft by the smoke. 
The lashing was the result of your own fears for my 
safety." At the close of the war the admiral yielded 
to the solicitations of a celebrated artist, to stand for 
a historical portrait in the position in which he was 
first lashed. 



158 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 



XXVIII 

THE HORRORS OF ANDERSONVILLE PRISON 

[Frovi Walier Lee Cass's ^'' Jed^^ 

The rain was pouring in torrents when, on the 23d 
of May, 1864, about sundown, we arrived at Anderson 
Station. We were formed in single ranks on the long 
platform of the depot, and were then formally turned 
over to the prison guard. We were marched east a 
short distance, by a road running through a little valley, 
surrounded by thick pine woods, when there loomed up 
before us, in the moist atmosphere and gathering dark- 
ness, a long line of palisades, the sight of which gave 
me a shiver of foreboding and dread. The rainfall and 
the chill of evening oppressed me with gloom. 

The gates before us now swung inward, and we were 
marched into the prison. Many, oh, how many ! never 
passed through those gates again until they were car- 
ried to the graveyard trenches beyond. Gaunt crea- 
tures, with shrunken forms and blackened faces, clothed 
in dirty, ragged shreds of blue, thronged round us as 



THE HORRORS OF ANDERSONVILLE PRISON 1 59 

we entered the prison. The impress of suffering and 
famine was over all. Their hollow-eyed countenances, 
dishevelled hair, half-naked limbs, and grotesque habili- 
ments, for a while made it impossible for us to realize 
that they, like ourselves, were Union soldiers. 

Exposure to rain and sun, starvation and confinement 
within the deadly embrace of these prison walls had 
obliterated all semblance of manhood from these 
patriotic men. Some stared apathetically at us, as if 
visitants from another world, in which they no longer 
had a part. From their faces all hope and cheerfulness 
had faded out. Others gathered around us, and in 
plaintive, tremulous, but eager voices, inquired for news 
of the outside world from where we came, or invited 
to trade. " Where is Sherman } " " What is Grant 
doing ? " " Got any hard-tack or coffee to trade for 
corn bread ?" "Do you know when we are to be ex- 
changed ? " are samples of the interrogations which 
came from faltering lips. The last question was the 
most common one. This, coming from wretched men, 
hollow-eyed, famine-pinched, and with scurvied, swol- 
len faces, blue and trembling with cold, dampness, and 
the weakness of famine, made the questionings almost 
an appeal. Though this scene brought a shiver of 
creeping horror over many a man among us accustomed 



l60 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

to face death in battle, yet we but feebly comprehended 
its full import then. 

A revolting stench filled the moist atmosphere. Our 
feet mired into a wallow of filth at every step. We 
constantly stumbled on squalid huts scarcely high 
enough to creep under. These were made of blankets, 
shirts, shreds of clothing, or were built up with mud 
and roofed with brush or twigs of pine. . Coming from 
ordinary scenes of war, this prison, by contrast, was so 
horrible as to seem to be the very jaws of death and the 
gates of hell. Within its deadly maw all semblance of 
humanity was crushed. 

The side hill beyond, we were told, was to be our 
quarters. But where ? The whole hillside was so 
crowded with huts and human forms lying on the 
muddy ground, that at a first glance there appeared to 
be no room for us. It was only by scattering in groups 
of two or three at different points that we finally found 
the needed space to spread our blankets. 

Sadly thinking of my far-off Northern home and 
friends, and of the terrible contrasts here, I fell into a 
troubled sleep. The sun was shining brightly when I 
was awakened by men stumbling against me. As I 
arose to my feet the daylight revealed, for the first 
time, the whole prison area to my sight. 



THE HORRORS OF ANDERSONVILLE PRISON l6l 

In form the enclosure of stockade was a parallelo- 
gram, shown by after measurements to be ten hundred 
and ten feet in length, and seven hundred and seventy- 
nine feet wide. The sides of this parallelogram ran 
north and south. It enclosed two opposite hillsides, 
and the valleys and plateaus back of them. Near the 
centre, running from east to west, was a brook, eight to 
ten feet in width. On each side of this creek was a 
swampy marsh reaching to the foot of both the north * 
and south hillsides. 

The stockade was built of pine logs set upright in the 
ground, scored slightly on the sides, so as to fit them 
closely together. These were firmly held together by 
means of a plank or slab, spiked on the outside and 
across the face of the logs near the top. Sentry 
boxes, thirty-five in number, were scaffolded outside, 
close to the stockade, so that the guard could over- 
look the area within. 

No vegetation was in this pen. The dense growth ^ 
of pines formerly covering the ground had been cleared^J^ 
away when the stockade was built ''"^"^ 

AT 1 ^-^"^ 

As 1 went down the hill to wa.#i myself at the brool^,, 
I saw, for the first time, a little railing three feet high, ^ 
running eighteen feet from, and parallel with, the 
stockade, inside and all around it. It was made by 



1 62 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

nailing a strip of board, about three inches wide, to the 
top of posts set firmly in the ground. 

"What is that for?" I asked an old prisoner. 

*' You'd better keep away from it if you don't want 
to get shot," he replied. " That's the dead line. I saw 
one of the guard shoot one of our old men the other 
day while he was reaching over to pick up a weed which 
was growing inside." 

" What did he want of the weed } " I inquired won- 
deringly. 

" Don't know. Guess he wanted it to eat ; good for 
scurvy," was the reply. 

On every side strange and terrible sights greeted me. 
Men were cooking at little fires scarcely large enough 
to make a blaze. Dead men, with unclosed eyes, lay in 
the path by the side of the little hutSs Sick men, with 
scurvied, bloated limbs, were trying to eat, while their 
teeth almost dropped from their jaws. Wounded men, 
with festering, unhealed wounds, were lying with naked 
limbs and with hair matted in the filth of their sur- 
roundings. 

With inarticulate, pfteous whines, they looked with 
their lustreless eyes or reached out their withered, 
feeble hands in mute appeal for help. They were cov- 
ered with vermin. God in heaven 1 what horrors 
greeted every step ! 



THE HORRORS OF ANDERSONVILLE PRISON 163 

Such was our introduction to the living death of 
Andersonville, and thus it was that we settled down to 
the common life of prisoners. As bitter and terrible 
as was the opening scene described, it afterwards 
became inexpressibly worse, month by month, during 
our stay there. 



64 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 



XXIX 

THE HEROISM OF REBECCA WRIGHT 

[^Fro7H General Sheridaii's ''''Personal Memoirs "] 

Early in the fall of 1864, I felt the need of an effi- 
cient body of scouts to collect information concerning 
the enemy. I therefore began to organize my scouts on 
a system which I hoped would give better results than 
had the method hitherto pursued in the department, 
which was to employ doubtful citizens and Confederate 
deserters. If these should turn out untrustworthy, the 
mischief they might do us gave me grave apprehensions. 
I finally concluded that those of our own soldiers who 
should volunteer for the delicate and hazardous duty 
would be the most valuable material. These men were 
disguised in Confederate uniforms whenever necessary, 
were paid from the secret-service fund in proportion to 
the value of the intelligence they furnished, which 
often stood us in good stead in checking the forays of 
Harry Gilmor, Mosby, and other irregulars. 

Beneficial results came from the plan in many other 



THE HEROISM OF REBECCA WRIGHT 1 65 

ways too, and particularly so when, in a few days, two 
of my scouts put me in the way of getting news con- 
veyed from Winchester. They had learned that just 
outside of my lines there was living an old colored man 
who had a permit from the Confederate commander to 
go into Winchester and return three times a week, for 
the purpose of selling vegetables to the inhabitants. 
The scouts had sounded this man, and, finding him both 
loyal and shrewd, suggested that he might be made 
useful to us within the enemy's lines. The proposal 
struck me as feasible, provided there could be found in 
Winchester some trustworthy person who would be will- 
ing to co-operate and correspond with me. I asked 
General Crook, who was acquainted with many of the 
Union people of Winchester, if he knew of such a per- 
son, and he recommended a Miss Rebecca Wright, a 
young lady whom he had met there before the battle of 
Kernstown, who, he said, was a member of the Society 
of Friends and the teacher of a small private school. 
He knew she was faithful and loyal to the government, 
and thought she might be willing to render us assist- 
ance ; but he could not be certain of this, for, on ac- 
2;ount of her well-known loyalty, she was under constant 
surveillance. I hesitated at first, but, finally deciding to 
try it, despatched the two scouts to the old negro's 



l66 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

cabin, and they brought him to my headquarters late at 
night. I was soon convinced of the negro's fidehty, 
and, asking him if he was acquainted with Miss 
Rebecca Wright of Winchester, he replied that he 
knew her well. Thereupon, I told him what I 
wished to do, and, after a little persuasion, he agreed 
to carry a letter to the young lady on his next 
marketing trip. 

My message was prepared by writing it on tissue 
paper, which was then compressed into a small pellet, 
and protected by wrapping it in tinfoil so that it could 
be safely carried in the man's mouth. The probability 
of his being searched when he came to the Confederate 
picket-line was not remote, and in such event he was to 
swallow the pellet. The letter appealed to Miss Wright's 
loyalty and patriotism, and requested her to furnish me 
with information regarding the strength and condition 
of Early's army. The night before the negro started, 
one of the scouts placed the odd-looking communica- 
tion in his hands, with renewed injunctions as to secrecy 
and promptitude. 

Early in the morning it was delivered to Miss Wright 
with an intimation that a letter of importance was 
enclosed in the tinfoil, the negro telling her at the same 
time that she might expect him to call for a message in 



THE HEROISM OF REBECCA WRIGHT ' 167 

reply before his return home. At first Miss Wright 
began to open the pellet nervously, but when told to be 
careful, and to preserve the foil as a wrapping for her 
answer, she proceeded slowly and carefully, and when 
the note appeared intact the messenger retired, remark- 
ing again that in the evening he would come for an 
answer. 

On reading my communication Miss Wright was 
much startled by the perils it involved, and hesitatingly 
consulted her mother ; but her devoted loyalty soon 
silenced every other consideration, and the brave girl 
resolved to comply with my request, notwithstanding it 
might jeopardize her life. The evening before, a con- 
valescent Confederate officer had visited her mother's 
house, and in conversation about the war had disclosed 
the fact that Kershaw's division of infantry and a 
battalion of artillery had started to rejoin General Lee. 
At the time Miss Wright heard this, she attached but 
little importance to it, but now she perceived the value 
of the intelligence. As her first venture, she deter- 
mined to send it to me at once, which she did, with a 
promise that in the future she would with great pleas- 
ure continue to transmit information by the negro 
messenger. 

Miss Wright's answer proved of more value to me 



1 68 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

than she anticipated, for it^ot only quieted the con- 
flicting reports concerning Anderson's corps, but was 
most important in showing positively that Kershaw had 
gone. This circumstance led, three days later, to the 
battle of Winchester. 



THE FORTUNES OF WAR 1 69 



XXX 

THE FORTUNES OF WAR 

[From the '■'■ Yoiitli' s Compnttion"'\ 

The tide of war penetrated for the first time into 
Kentucky in the summer of 1862. The armed neu- 
trality which the State had declared as its policy, and 
which it had striven to maintain, had proved a failure. 
The Confederates entered the State, hoping and expect- 
ing to find her ready to come at their call. 

The attempt proved a failure. After many defeats, 
the broken and routed army was driven back into the 
valley of East Tennessee. 

The silence of the forest was broken by the tramp 
of thousands of feet ; the hills swarmed with the blue 
and the gray. Giant trees, the growth of centuries, 
were felled to make room for batteries and rifle-pits. 
The scanty crops of corn and potatoes were soon ex- 
hausted, and forage for man and beast became every 
day more scarce. 

Supplies were brought up the river on steamboats, 
then transferred to wagon-trains, and, when the roads 
became impassable, were carried on pack mules. 



170 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

So the advancing Federal army under Burnside had 
no lack. But for General Bragg's men, who were 
retreating, weary, discouraged, footsore and ragged, 
there was no recourse but to ravage the surrounding 
country, and this they did with such effect that the 
natives, who are always abjectly poor, were reduced 
to extremities. 

Communication with home was cut off, and mails 
were irregular and infrequent. Yet it was a question 
whether to be glad or to be sorry when a mail did come, 
so piteous were the tales of destitution and need that it 
brought. 

The early twilight was settling down, a light fall of 
snow had sprinkled the hills with white, the wind 
whistled drearily through the pine trees. Shivering, the 
men drew closer to the roaring campfire. 

Suddenly one of the group started up, and, dashing a 
letter he had been reading to the ground, exclaimed, 
*' Boys, I'm bound ter git a leave an' go home fur a 
week ! " 

*' Git a leave in the face uv the Blue Jackets ! Why, 
John Rowsey, air ye crazy ? " 

"I tell yer, fellers, I'm bound ter go — my wife an' 
the young uns they's starvin', ain't got nothing to eat 
at all!" 



THE FORTUNES OF WAR 17I 

He groaned as he walked away to present his petition 
to General Breckinridge, his brigade commander. 

With orderlies and adjutants on guard, it is by no 
means easy for a private to approach his chief, but a 
motive such as impelled Rowsey would have overcome 
even greater obstacles than these, and he was in a short 
time standing in the general's tent. 

*' Beg pardon, general," said the aide, "I tried to keep 
the man out, but nothing would do but he must see you 
himself." 

The young officers who filled the tent smiled audibly 
at the appearance of the ragged, unkempt, shoeless 
man who presented himself among them. But General 
Breckinridge was too polite to find matter for merriment 
in genuine distress, however humble. With a glance of 
stern rebuke to the jesters, he turned, and, with the 
same gracious, sweet courtesy that marked his manners 
to every one, he said, ''Well, my man, what can I do 
for you ? " 

" I would like a week's leave, general, if you 
please." 

" Why, my good fellow, don't you know that in the 
face of the enemy no one can have a leave } " 

**Read that, general, if you please." 

It was a torn and soiled half-sheet of coarse paper. 



/ 

1/2 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

The general took it, and these were the pencilled words 
he deciphered : 

Dear John, — Can't you come home and help us? We ain't 
had nothin' ter eat sence day before yesterday, 'cep' some dry 
crusts uv corn bread. The soldiers hev took everything. They've 
kilt the cow, an' the meal's all gone ; if you can't come soon we'll 
all be starved. Good-by, an' God bless you if I don't see you no 
more. Mary. • 

No petition from high official had ever moved General 
Breckinridge as did that simple little letter. 

"My poor fellow," said he, laying his hand on the 
soldier's shoulder, " I will indorse your petition and 
send it up to headquarters. You know that when we 
are so near a battle as now no one but the commandino^ 
general can grant a leave, but you shall have it if I can 
get it for you." 

" God bless you, general ! " sobbed the poor fellow, as 
he sank on his knees. " God bless you, and thank you 
kindly." 

There were few dry eyes in the tent as Breckinridge 
read the letter to the officers who surrounded him, after 
Rowsey had gone, and he lost no time in sending it 
with his own indorsement to General Bragg. 

John Rowsey slept with troubled dreams of love and 
Mary, and awoke stretching out his arms and crying, 
" I'm a-coming, Mary, I'm coming ! " 



THE FORTUNES OF WAR 1 73 

"Pore feller," said his comrades, "he's all dazed wi* 
his trouble." 

" Message for Private John Rowsey, Company E, — th, 
K. V. M.," called out a gay-looking officer, galloping 
down the line. 

Flushed with hope, he came forward, received the 
packet, and tore it open eagerly ; but when he saw his 
wife's letter enclosed with General Breckinridge's in- 
dorsement, while across the paper were written the 
fatal words, " Request disallowed," he dropped heavily 
to the ground. " I tell yer, boys, I must go ! " he said 
an hour or two later to a group of friends. 

" But yer'll be caught ! " 

"Ef I am they can't do nothin' but shoot me, an* I 
rather be dead than stay here. Good Lord, you dunno 
what 'tis ter feel as them as yer love better'n yerself's 
starvin' ter death, an' you can't do nothin' ter help 
'em ! " 

After that no one said anything to hinder him, but 
all gave him money to help him. 

" Give my respects to General Breckinridge, Jim," he 
said to a comrade, as he started, "an' thank him fur 
what he tried to do fur me, an' tell him I hed ter go." 
Then he turned and walked quietly down the line, into 
the thick woods patrolled by the boys in gray. 



174 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

Past the first and second sentry he went unchallenged, 
no one taking notice of the man who walked along 
coolly and seemed to be minding his business. Only 
one more picket, and then — freedom and Mary, when — ■ 

*' Who goes there ? " called a stentorian voice. 

''A friend." 

"Advance and give the countersign." 

A dash through the woods was the only answer. 
What odds, however, had one against half a dozen ? 
The sentry's gun gave the alarm, and John Rowsey was 
surrounded and lodged in the guard-house. 

The tidings soon penetrated to the little group who 
were so anxiously awaiting the result. 

"Sarves him right," said a burly Tennessean, "fur 
desartin' his country's flag." 

" Shet up, Jake Larkins ! Country's well enough, 
but if them what's bone o' yer bone's a-starvin' an' 
a-callin' fur ye, I reckon ye wouldn't be thinyng 'bout 
country," said Jim, as he strode off to Breckinridge's 
quarters. 

" Is it any use, general, do ye think, axin' fur a pardon ? 
I knows as it's a mighty bad case, but jes' ye think what 
was puUin' the poor feller t'other way." 

" I'll see, I'll see," said the general, with a tremble in 
his voice. 



THE FORTUNES OF WAR 1/5 

" My God, I wish I had given him the leave and taken 
the risk myself." 

And " see " he did, for he got up a petition which was 
signed by half a dozen brigade commanders ; but all to 
no effect. 

*' Deserter John Rowsey to be shot at high noon," 
was the sentence issued. 

The prisoner sat in the guard-house trying to write a 
letter by a dim light. As he was writing, General 
Breckenridge opened the door and came in. 

" My poor fellow, I am sorry for this ! " 

" I knowed you'd be, general, I knowed you'd be. I 
love my country, too, but I couldn't help doin' it. I 
was bound to go, you see." 

" Is there anything I can do for you ? " 

" If you'd find my Mary, general, an' tell her how I 
tried ter come, an' give her this letter, an' if you could 
help her a bit." 

" I will, I win," was the answer. " I will find her 
myself." 

"An', general, you don't think I run away cos I was 
a coward ^ " 

" A coward, no ! " and the kindly blue eyes shone 
with moisture. 

"I ain't afeard ter fight, an' I ain't afeard ter 



176 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

die, but there's some tnings as takes the heart 
outer a feller." 

*' I'll tell Mary that you died like a brave man," 
said the general, as he grasped the horny hand of 
the soldier. 

'* Bless you fur that word! " cried the other, springing 
up eagerly. " An' God bless you now an' alwiz, ai? 
keep you frum trouble like mine ! " And there the-/ 
stood hand in hand, the general and the gentleman, and 
the uncouth mountaineer whose ideas were limited to 
his native hills. 

Around a large, partially cleared space, where the 
stumps of the trees showed that the wilderness had but 
lately given way before the advance of man, the bat- 
talions were drawn up to see — what ? 

One solitary man standing in the centre of the circle, 
with eyes blinded, a target for the bullets of half a 
dozen bright, glittering rifles fifty yards away. 

** I'll not do it," said one. '* I came to fight the enemy 
and not to murder a defenceless man." 

" Orders is orders," said another, '' and he's a de- 
serter." 

. " Deserter, indeed ! Wouldn't you have done the 
same in his place ? " 

" Well, I wasn't in his place, and how do I know what 



THE FORTUNES OF WAR 177 

I would have done if I had been ? " with which piece 
of philosophy he turned away. 

The signal given, a flash, a discharge, a muffled 
scream, and all was over. No one noticed that one of 
the shots was fired into the air. 

General Breckinridge's face grew whiter and whiter 
as he sat immovable on his horse at the head of his 
troops and watched the preparations. And when the 
fainfcry was heard he fell to the ground in a dead faint. 

What mattered it to the thousands in that camp, who 
might themselves meet death in the next twenty-four 
hours, that one soul had gone on before .? 

When General Breckinridge sought out that once 
happy little home on the spur of Pine Knob, he found 
only an empty and deserted cabin. Whether Mary had 
heard the sad tidings and gone to the settlement in the 
valley away down below, or whether she had wandered 
into the wilderness in pursuit of sustenance for herself 
and little ones, and perished there, no one will ever 
know. 



1/8 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 



XXXI 

BARTER AND TRADE IN ANDERSONVILLE PRISON 
[From Warren Lee Cass's ^'' Jedr'\ 

The teams with rations usually came in at the north 
gate. These rations consisted of Indian meal, and 
sometimes of bacon. As a whole there was a large 
quantity, but when subdivided among twenty or thirty 
thousand men it gave to each one but a small quantity. 
A street or path, to which was given the name of Broad- 
way, led from the gate through the stockade from east 
to west. Here, at ration time, was gathered a motley 
crowd. With eager, hungry eyes, they watched each 
division of the food, the sight of which seemed to have 
a strange fascination for the hungry wretches, long 
unused to full stomachs. They crowded to the wagons 
to get a sight of each bag of meal or piece of meat. 
The attempt to grasp a morsel which sometimes fell 
from the wagon, the piteous expression of disappoint- 
ment on their pinched and unwashed faces if they 
failed, the involuntary exclamations, and the wistful, 
hungry look, had in them a pathos not easily described. 



BARTER AND TRADE IN ANDERSONVILLE PRISON 1 79 

After the drawing of rations, a dense throng of pris- 
oners always gathered near the north gate to trade. 
One with tobacco cut in pieces not larger than dice 
might be seen trying to trade it for rations. Another 
could be heard crying out, ''Who will trade a soup-bone 
for Indian meal.''" "Who'll trade cooked rations for 
raw ? " " Who'll trade beans for wood ? " While others 
with small pieces of dirty bacon an inch or two in size, 
held on a sharpened stick, would drive a sharp trade 
with some one whose mouth was watering for its pos- 
session. But for its misery, the scene would often have 
been intensely comical. 

The dirty faces, anxious looks, and grotesque gar- 
ments, and the loud cries, so much in contrast with the 
usual value of the articles offered, had a humorous side 
not hard to appreciate even by men as miserable as 
themselves. The struggle of these thousands, all 
striving to better their condition by barter and trade, 
was pathetic. How each bettered his condition by the 
process of trade, I could never learn. 

We had not long^been prisoners before we discovered 
that men here, as in other conditions of life, in order to 
"get on" and preserve life, must adopt some trade or 
business. This necessity made men ingenious. Some 
set up as bakers, and bought flour, and baked biscuits 



I So STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

which they sold to such as had money to buy. The 
ovens which were built showed such ingenuity as to 
extort expressions of surprise from the Confederates 
who occasionally visited us. The soil contained a red 
precipitate of iron, which was very adhesive. This was 
made into rude bricks by mixing the earth with water, 
and the oven was built of these over a mould of sand. 
After being left to harden in the sun for a few days, the 
sand was removed, a fire was kindled, and the oven was 
ready for use. 

Others made wooden buckets to hold water, whittling 
out the staves and making the hoops with a jack-knife. 
Others purchased (of outside parties) sheet tin, gener- 
ally taken from the roofs of railway cars, and, with a 
railway spike and a stone for tools, made small camp 
kettles, without solder, by bending the pieces ingen- 
iously together. These were eagerly purchased by those 
who had money. As no cooking utensils were pos- 
sessed by the prisoners, except such as they brought 
into prison with them, these tinmen were benefactors. 

Others tinkered broken-down watches, the object of 
their owners being simply to make them "go" long 
enough to effect a trade. The purchaser was usually a 
Confederate, who found these watch-owners easier to 
interview before the trade than afterwards, when he 



BARTER AND TRADE IN ANDERSONVILLE PRISON l8l 

desired to bring them to account for selling watches 
that refused to go unless carried by the purchaser. 
Others fried flapjacks of Indian meal, and sold them 
hot from the griddle for ten cents each. Among the 
professional men were brewers, who vended around the 
camp beer made of Indian meal soured in water. This 
was sold for vinegar, and proclaimed by the venders to 
be a cure for scurvy, but was principally used as a re- 
freshing drink. A certain enterprising prisoner added 
ginger and molasses to the compound, and made, as he 
termed his success, a " boom " by selling it. He became 
so rich as to buy food, and so regained his health and 
strength. 



82 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 



XXXII 

BREAD CAST UPON THE WATERS 

The promise is that bread cast upon the waters shall 
be found after many days. The fulfilment of this 
promise in its fullest measure was never better exem- 
plified than in the personal history of those who took 
an active part in the late war. Here are two incidents 
which show us that the Christian spirit may always be 
exercised in the midst of commonplace and every-day 
surroundings. 

In 1864, some wounded soldiers lay in a farmhouse 

in the Shenandoah Valley. Mrs. B , the mother of 

one of them, the wife of a neighboring planter, rode 
ten miles every day to see her boy, bringing with her 
such little comforts as she could obtain. Her house 
was burned, and the plantation was in ruins, trampled 
down by the army. One day she carried to him a pail 
of beef-tea. Every drop was precious, for it was with 
great difificulty, and at a high price, that she had ob- 
tained the beef from which it was made. 

As she sat watching her boy sip the steaming, savory 



BREAD CAST UPON THE WATERS 1 83 

broth, her eye caught the eager, hungry eye of a man 
on the next cot. 

She turned away with a quick, savage pleasure in his 
want. He was a Yankee soldier, perhaps one of the 
very band who had burned her home. 

She was a bitter Southerner. But she was also a 
noble-hearted woman, and a servant of Christ. Her 
eye stole back to the pale, sunken face, and she remem- 
bered the words of her Master, *' If thine enemy thirst, 
give him drink." 

After a moment's pause, and with pressed lips, for it 
required all the moral force she could command for her 
to do it, she filled a bowl with the broth and put it to 
his lips, repeating to herself the words, "For His sake; 
for His sake ; for His sake I do it." 

Then she brought fresh water and bathed the soldier's 
face and hands as gently as if he too had been her son. 
The next day when she returned he was gone, having 
been exchanged to the North. 

Last winter, the son of a senator from one of the 
Northern States brought home, during the Christmas 
vacation, as his chum, a young engineer from Virginia. 

He was the only living son of Mrs. B , the boy 

whom she had nursed having been killed during the 
later years of the war. 



184 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

She had struggled for years to educate this boy as a 
civil engineer, and had done it. But without influence 
he could not obtain a position, and was now supporting 
himself by copying. 

Senator Blank became much interested in the young 
Virginian, inquired into his qualifications, and after he 
had returned home used his influence to procure an 
appointment for him as chief of the staff of engineers 
employed to construct an important railway. It would 
yield him a good income for many years. 

Senator Blank enclosed the appointment in a letter 

to Mrs. B , reminding her of the farmhouse on the 

Shenandoah, adding, ''The wounded man with whom 
you shared that bowl of broth has long wished to thank 
you for it. Now he has done it." 

A story is also told of two young men, who, shortly 
before the war broke out, were fellow-students and room- 
mates at a Pennsylvania college, one a Southerner. 

Both were hard students, and aspired to be leaders of 
their class ; and in time the sharp rivalry between them 
changed their friendship to bitter enmity. Mutual 
charges were made, and the hostile feeling finally culmi- 
nated in a challenge from the Southerner, which the 
other treated with contempt. 



BREAD CAST UPON THE WATERS 1 85 

After graduation the young duellist went home, and 
in the cares and excitements of the following years his 
college quarrel was forgotten. The memory of it sud- 
denly came back to him one day, after he had become a 
Christian, and shocked him with the discovery of a sur- 
viving hatred. 

It was at the battle of Stone River. Our student, now 
a Confederate officer, was riding across the battle-field, 
when his horse nearly trod upon a wounded Union soldier. 
He dismounted, with the humane intention of giving 
some assistance, but when he looked the soldier in the 
face, he recognized his old college enemy. He turned 
quickly to remount his horse, but better thoughts and 
feelings checked his first cruel impulse, and "in Christ's 
name " he caused the soldier to be removed to a place 
of refuge, and procured for him the services of a sur- 
geon and a chaplain. 

The wounded man knew his deliverer, but was too 
weak to utter inquiries or thanks. Informed that his 
wound was fatal, he could only request that his mother 
be written to, and assured that he " died like a true 
soldier ; " and this kind service also the Southern 
officer faithfully performed as soon as the battle was 
over. 

He had no suspicion that the care he had secured for 



1 86 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

the sufferer would prove the means of saving his former 
enemy's life. 

After the war, the Northern man wrote to thank his 
forgiving enemy ; but no answer was received, and fur- 
ther inquiry brought the information that he had been 
killed. 

Twenty-one years passed ; the Northerner was a phy- 
sician in prosperous practice, when business called him 
to Charleston, S. C. In a street of that city, then 
partly in ruins, the two men who had twice been dead 
to each other met again. 

The startled doctor saw the classmate who had once 
been willing to take his life, and once had saved it. 
The man had lost his all in the great earthquake ; and 
his old enemy and grateful friend took him and his 
needy family back with him to his own city, and estab- 
lished him in a good situation. 



THE SURRENDER OF GENERAL LEE I 87 



XXXIII 

THE SURRENDER OF GENERAL LEE 

\_Frofn General Gi'aiifs '■'■ Perso7tal Memoi7's."'\ 

Before stating what took place between General 
Lee and myself, I will give all there is of the story of 
the famous apple-tree. 
Wars produce many 
stories of fiction, some 
of which are told until 
they are believed to be 
true. The war of the 
rebellion was no excep- 
tion to this rule ; and 
the story of the apple- 
tree is one of those fic- 
tions based on a alight 
foundation of fact. 

ULYSSES S. GRANT. 

There was an apple 

orchard on the side of the hill occupied by the 
Confederate forces. Running diagonally up the hill 
was a wagon road, which, at one point, ran very 




1 88 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

near one of the trees, so that the wheels of vehi- 
cles had, on that side, cut off the roots of this tree, 
leaving a little embankment. General Babcock, of my 
staff, reported to me that when he first met General 
Lee he was sitting upon this embankment, with his feet 
in the road below and his back resting against the tree. 
The story has no other foundation than that. Like 
many other stories, it would be very good if it was only 
true. 

I had known General Lee in the old army, and had 
served with him in the Mexican War, but did not sup- 
pose, owing to the difference in our age and rank, that 
he would remember me ; while I would more naturally 
remember him distinctly, because he was the chief of 
staff of General Scott in the Mexican War 

When I had left camp that morning I had not ex- 
pected so soon the result that was then taking place, 
and consequently was in rough garb. I was without a 
sword, as I usually was when on horseback on the field, 
and wore a soldier's blouse for a coat, with the shoulder- 
straps of my rank to indicate to the army who I was. 
When I went into the house I found General Lee. We 
greeted each other, and after shaking hands took our 
seats. I had my staff with me, a good portion of whom 
were in the room during the whole of the interview. 



THE SURRENDER OF GENERAL LEE 



189 





>^*- 






\ 



What General Lee's feelings were I do not know. 
As he was a man of much dignity, with an impassible 
face, it was impossible to say whether 'he felt inwardly 
glad that the end had finally come, or felt sad over the 
result, and was too 
manly to show it. 
Whatever his feel- 
ings, they were en- 
tirely concealed from 
my observation ; but 
my own feelings, 
which had been quite 
jubilant on the re- 
ceipt of his letter, 
were sad and de- 
pressed. I felt like 
anything than rejoic- 
ing at the downfall 
of a foe who had 
fought so long and valiantly, and had suffered so 
much for a cause, though that was, I believe, one 
of the worst for which a people ever fought, and 
one for which there was the least excuse. I do not 
question, however, the sincerity of the great mass of 
those who were opposed to us. General Lee was 




190 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

dressed in a full uniform which was entirely new, and 
was wearing a sword of considerable value, very likely 
the sword which had been presented by the State of 
Virginia ; at all events, it was an entirely different 
sword from the one that would ordinarily be worn ,in 
the field. In my rough travelling suit, the uniform of 
a private, with the straps of a lieutenant-general, I must 
have contrasted very strongly with a man so handsomely 
dressed, six feet high, and of a faultless form. But 
this was not a matter that I thought of until afterwards. 
We soon fell into a conversation about old army 
times. He remarked that he remembered me very well 
in the old army ; and I told him that as a matter of 
course I remembered him perfectly. Our conversation 
grew so pleasant that I almost forgot the object of our 
meeting. General Lee called my attention to the 
object of our meeting, and said that he had asked for 
this interview for the purpose of getting from me the 
terms I proposed to give his army. I said that I meant 
merely that his army should lay down their arms, not 
to take them up again during the war unless duly and 
properly exchanged. He said that he had so under- 
stood my letter, and that the terms I proposed to give 
his army ought to be written out. I then began writing 
out the terms. When I put my pen to paper I did 



THE SURRENDER OF GENERAL LEE IQI 

not know the first word that I should make use of, I 
only knew what was in my mind, and that I wished to 
express it clearly so that there could be no mistaking it. 
As I wrote on, the thought occurred to me that the 
officers had their own private horses and effects, which 
were important to them, but of no value to us : also 
that it would be unnecessary humiliation to call upon 
them to deliver their side-arms. 

No conversation, not one word, passed between Gen- 
eral Lee and myself, either about private property, side- 
arms, or kindred subjects. When he read over that part 
of the terms about side-arms, horses, and private prop- 
erty of the officers, he remarked — with some feeling, I 
thought — that this would have a happy effect upon the 
army. I then said to him that I thought this would be 
about the last battle of the war — I sincerely hoped so ; 
and I said further, I took it that most of the men in the 
ranks were small farmers. The whole country had been 
so raided by the two armies that it was doubtful 
whether they would be able to put in a crop to carry 
themselves and their families through the next winter 
without the aid of the horses they were then riding. 
The United States did not want them, and I would 
therefore instruct the officers I left behind to receive 
the paroles of his troops to let every man who claimed 



192 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

to own a horse or mule take the animal to his home. 
Lee remarked again that this would have a happy effect. 

The much-talked-of surrendering of Lee's sword and 
my handing it back, this and much more that has been 
said about it is the purest romance. The word sword 
or side-arms was not mentioned by either of us until I 
wrote it in the terms! General Lee, after all was com- 
pleted and before taking his leave, remarked that his 
army was in a very bad condition for want of food, and 
that they were without forage ; and that his men had 
been living for some days on parched corn exclusively, 
and that he would have to ask me for rations and forage. 
I told him ''certainly," and asked for how many men he 
wanted rations. His answer was, ''About twenty-five 
thousand." I authorized him to send his own commis- 
sary and quartermaster to Appomattox Station, where 
he could have all the provisions wanted. Lee and I 
then separated as cordially as we had met; he returning 
to his own men, and all went into bivouac for the night 
at Appomattox. 

When the news of the surrender first reached our lines, 
our men commenced firing a salute of a hundred guns, 
in honor of the victory. I at once sent word, however, 
to have it stopped ; the Confederates were now our pris- 
oners, and we did not want to exult over their downfall. 



GRAND REVIEW AT THE CLOSE OF THE WAR 1 93 



XXXIV 

THE GRAND REVIEW IN WASHINGTON AT THE 
CLOSE OF THE WAR 

[/tw!7Z General SJiefniaii's ^^'^ Personal Memoirs.'''''\ 

By invitation I was on the review stand and wit- 
nessed the review of the Army of the Potomac, com- 
manded by General Meade in person. The day was 
beautiful, and the pageant was superb. Washington 
was full of strangers, who filled the streets, in holiday 
dress, and every house was decorated with flags. The 
army marched by divisions in close column around the 
Capitol, down Pennsylvania Avenue, past the President 
and Cabinet, who occupied a large stand prepared for 
the occasion directly in front of the White House. 

During the afternoon and night of May 23, 1865, the 
Fifteenth, the Seventeenth, and Twentieth Corps 
crossed Long Bridge, bivouacked in the streets about 
the Capitol, and the Fourteenth Corps closed up to the 
bridge. The morning of the 24th was extremely beau- 
tiful, and the ground was in splendid order for our re- 
view. The streets were filled with people to see the 



194 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

pageant, armed with bouquets of flowers for their 
favorite regiment or heroes, and everything was propi- 
tious. Punctually at 9 a.m., the signal gun was fired, 
when in person, attended by General Howard and all 
my staff, I rode slowly down Pennsylvania Avenue, the 
crowds of men, women, and children densely lining the 
sidewalks and almost obstructing the way. We were 
followed close by General Logan at the head of the Fif- 
teenth Corps. When I reached the Treasury Building 
and looked back, the sight was simply magnificent. 
The column was compact, and the glittering muskets 
looked like a solid mass of steel, moving with the regu- 
larity of a pendulum. We passed the Treasury Build- 
ing, in front of which and of the White House was an 
immense throng of people, for whom extensive stands 
had been prepared on both sides of the avenue. As I 
neared the brick house opposite the lower corner of 
Lafayette Square, some one asked me to notice Mr. 
Seward, who, still feeble and bandaged for his wounds, 
had been removed there that he might behold the troops. 
I moved in that direction, and took off my hat to Mr. 
Seward, who sat at an upper window. He recognized 
the salute, returned it, and then we rode on steadily 
past the President, saluting with our swords. All on 
his stand arose and acknowledged the salute. Then, 



GRAND REVIEW AT THE CLOSE OF THE WAR I95 

turning into the gate of the Presidential grounds, we 
left our horses with orderlies and went upon the stand, 
where I found Mrs. Sherman, with her father and son. 
Passing them, I shook hands with the President, Gen- 
eral Grant, and each member of the Cabinet. I then 
took my post on the left of the President, and for six 
hours and a half stood while the army passed in the 
order of the Fifteenth, Seventeenth, Twentieth, and 
Fourteenth Corps. It was, in my judgment, the most 
magnificent army in existence — sixty-five thousand men 
— in splendid physique, who had just completed a 
march of nearly two thousand miles in a hostile coun- 
try, in good drill, and who realized that they were being 
closely scrutinized by thousands of their fellow-country- 
men and by foreigners. Division after division passed, 
each commander of an army corps or division coming 
on the stand during the passage of his command, to be 
presented to the President, his Cabinet, and spectators. 
The steadiness and firmness of the tread, the careful 
dress of the guides, the uniform intervals between the 
companies, all eyes directly to the front, and the tat- 
tered and bullet-riven flags festooned with flowers, all 
attracted universal notice. Many good people up to 
that time had looked upon our Western army as a sort 
of mob ; but the world then saw and recognized the 



196 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

fact that it was an army in the proper sense, well organ- 
ized, well commanded and disciplined ; and there was 
no wonder that it had swept through the South like a 
tornado. For six hours and a half that strong tread of 
the Army of the West resounded along Pennsylvania 
Avenue ; not a soul of that vast crowd of spectators 
left his place, and when the rear of the column had 
passed by, thousands of the spectators still lingered to 
express their sense of confidence in the strength of a 
government which could claim such an army. 

Some little scenes enlivened the day, and called for 
the laughter and cheers of the crowd. Each division 
was followed by six ambulances, as a representative of 
its baggage train. Some of the division commanders 
had added, by way of variety, goats, milch-cows, pack- 
mules, whose loads consisted of game-cocks, poultry, 
hams, etc., and some of them had the families of freed 
slaves along, with the women leading their children. 
Each division was preceded by its corps of black pio- 
neers, armed with picks and spades. These marched 
abreast in double ranks, keeping perfect dress and step, 
and added much to the interest of the occasion. On 
the whole, the grand review was a splendid success, and 
was a fitting conclusion to the campaign and the war. 



RUNNING THE BLOCKADE IQ/ 



XXXV 

RUNNING THE BLOCKADE 
\^From "Dcboihavi's Vozv,'" by Amelia B. Edzuards.'] 

And now the rapid dusk comes on. The men are at 
their posts ; the captain gives the word ; and the 
Stormy Petrel, which has been busily getting up her 
steam for the last hour or more, swings slowly round, 
and works out of the port (Nassau^ as composedly and 
unobtrusively as she had worked in. The chain of 
lamps along the quays, the scattered lights sparkling 
along the shores of the bay, the steady fire of the 
beacon at the mouth of the harbor, fade and diminish 
and are lost one by one in the distance. For a long 
time the Stormy Petrel skirts the coast line, keeping in 
with the Bahamas, and pursuing her way through Brit- 
ish waters, but a little after midnight she stands out to 
sea. 

A lovely night, the horizon somewhat hazy after the 
heat of the day, but the sea breaking all over into 
phosphorescent smiles and dimples, and the heavens 
one glowing vault of stars. The Stormy Petrel, her 



IQo STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

steam being now well up, rushes on with a foam of fire 
at her bows and a train of molten diamonds in her 
wake. Thus the night wears, and at gray dawn the boy 
in the crow's-nest reports a steamer on the starboard 
quarter. 

Scarcely has this danger been seen and avoided than 
another and another is sighted at some points or other 
of the horizon. And now swift orders, prompt obedi- 
ence, eager scrutiny, are the rule of the day, for the 
vessel is in perilous waters, and her only chance of 
safety lies in the sharpness of her lookout, and the 
speed with which she changes her course when any 
possible enemy appears in sight. All day long, there- 
fore, she keeps doubling like a hare, sometimes stop- 
ping altogether, to let some dangerous-looking stranger 
pass on ahead ; sometimes turning back upon her 
course, but, thanks to her general invisibility and the 
vigilance of her pilot, escaping unseen, and even mak- 
ing fair progress in the teeth of every difficulty. 

And now the sun goes down, half gold, half crimson, 
settling into a rim of fog bank on the western horizon. 
Lower it sinks, and lower, the gold diminishing, the 
crimson gaining. Now, for a moment, it hangs upon 
the verge of the waters, and the sky is flushed to the 
zenith, and every ripple crested with living fire. And 



RUNNING THE BLOCKADE 199 

now, suddenly it is gone, and before the glow has yet 
had time to fade, the southern night rushes in. 

An hour or so later the wind drops, and the Stormy 
Petrel steams straight into alight fog which lies across 
her path like a soft, fleecy, upright wall of cloud. 

-This fog is in our favor, Mr. Polter" (the pilot), 
says Debenham (the supercargo), pacing the deck with 
rapid steps ; for the night has now turned somewhat 

chill and raw. 

"Waal, sir, that's as it may be," replies the pilot, 
cautiously. - The fog helps to hide us ; but then, yew 
see, it likewise helps to run us into danger." 

At a little after midnight, when all seems to be soli- 
tude and security, and no breath is stirring, and no 
sound is heard save the rushing of the Stormy Petrel 
through the placid waters, there suddenly rises up 
before the eyes of all on board a great, ghostly, shad- 
owy something — a phantom ship, vague, mountainous, 
terrific, from the midst of which there issues a trumpet- 
tongued voice, saying, — 

- Steamer ahoy ! Heave to, or I'll sink you ! " 

"Guess it's the Roanoke," observed the pilot calmly. 

Even as he said the words, the man-of-war loomed 
out distincter, closer, within pistol shot from deck to 
deck. 



200 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

The captain of the Stormy Petrel answered the hos- 
tile summons. 

"■ Ay, ay, sir," he shouted through his speaking- 
trumpet. *' We are hove to." 

And then he called down the tube to those in the 
engine-room, '' Ease her." 

*' You won't stop the vessel. Captain Hay ? " ex- 
claimed Debenham, breathlessly. 

" I have stopped her, sir," snarled the captain. 

Then thundered a second mandate from the threaten- 
ing phantom alongside : 

"■ Lay to for boats." 

To which the captain again responded, " Ay, ay, sir ! " 

Debenham ground his teeth. " But, God of heaven ! 
man," he said, scarcely conscious of his own vehe- 
mence, " do you give in thus — without an effort } " 

The captain turned upon him with an oath. 

*' Who says I'm going to give in.'* " he answered sav- 
agely. " Wait till you see me do it, sir ! " 

And now the Stormy Petrel, her steam being sud- 
denly turned off, had ceased to move. All on the deck 
stood silenti motionless, waiting with suspended breath. 
They could hear the captain of the cruiser issuing 
his rapid orders, trace through the fog the outline of 
the quarter boats as they were lowered into the water, 



RUNNING THE BLOCKADE 201 

hear the splash of the oars, the boisterous gayety of 
the men. . . . 

Debenham uttered a suppressed groan, and the per- 
spiration stood in great beads upon his forehead. 

" Will you let them board us ? " he said hoarsely, 
pointing to the boats, now half-way between the two 
vessels. 

The captain grinned, put his lips again to the tube, 
shouted down to the engineer, " Full speed ahead ! " 
and, with one quivering leap, the Stormy Petrel shot out 
again upon her course, like a greyhound let loose. 

"There, Mr. Supercargo," said the captain grimly, 
" that is my way of giving in. Our friend will hardly 
desert his boats upon the open sea in such a night as 
this, even for the fun of capturing a blockade runner." 

At this moment, a red flash and a tremendous report 
declared the prompt resentment of the Federal com- 
mander. But almost before those rolling echoes had 
died away, the Stormy Petrel was half a mile ahead, 
and not an outline of the cruiser was visible through 
the fog. 

The night passed over without further incident, and 
by five o'clock next morning the blockade-runner was 
within eight hours of her destination. Both captain 
and pilot had calculated on making considerably less 



202 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

way in the time, and had allowed a much wider margin 
for detours and delays, so that now they were not a 
little perplexed at finding themselves so near the end of 
their journey. To go on was impossible, for they could 
only hope to slip through the cordon under cover of the 
night. And yet to remain where they were was almost 
as bad. However, they had no alternative, so, after 
some little consultation, they agreed to lie to for the 
present, keeping up their steam meanwhile, and holding 
themselves in readiness to repeat the manoeuvres of 
yesterday whenever any vessel hove in sight. 

The fog had now cleared off. The day was brilliant, 
the sky one speckless dome of intensest blue. The 
blockade-runners would have given much for dark 
and cloudy weather. Presently a long black trail of 
smoke on the horizon warned them of a steamer in the 
offing, whereupon they edged away in the opposite direc- 
tion as quickly as possible. 

Towards sunset the pilot began to look grave. 
*' Guess we sha'n't know whar we air if this game goes 
on much longer," said he. " It aren't in natur not to 
get out of one's reck'ning arter dodgin and de-vi-atin' 
all day long in this style." 

Still there was no help for it. Dodge and deviate the 
Stormy Petrel must, if she was to be kept out of harm's 



RUNNING THE BLOCKADE 203 

way ; and even so, with all her dodging and deviating, 
it seemed well-nigh miraculous that she should escape 
observation. 

At length, as evening drew on and the sun neared the 
horizon, preparations were made for the final run. Both 
captain and pilot, by help of charts, soundings, and so 
forth, had pretty well satisfied themselves as .to their 
position ; and the pilot, knowing at what hour it would 
be high tide on the bar, had calculated the exact time 
for going into the harbor. 

"'Twouldn't be amiss, cap'n," said this latter, "if you 
was to change that white weskit for suthin dark ; nor if 
you, sir," turning to Debenham, '' was to git quito' that 
light suit altogether for the next few hours." 

The captain muttered something about " infernal non- 
sense," but went to his cabin all the same to change the 
obnoxious garment. Whereupon Mr. Polter gave it as 
his opinion that if the captain and all on board were to 
black the whites of their eyes and put their teeth in 
mourning, it would not be more than the occasion war- 
ranted. 

The brief twilight being already past, the engineers 
piled on the coal, the captain gave the word, and the 
blockade-runner steered straight for Charleston. 

And now it is night ; clear, but not over-clear, 



204 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

although the stars are shining. Objects, however, are 
discernible at some distance, and ships are sighted con- 
tinually. But as none of these lie directly in his path, 
and as he knows his own boat to be invisible by night 
beyond a certain radius, the captain holds on his course 
unhesitatingly. In the mean while, the hours seem to 
fly. The Stormy Petrel, now clearing the waters at full 
speed, stretches herself like a racer to her work, fling- 
ing the spray over her sharp bows and speeding onward 
gallantly. About midnight the stars begin to cloud 
over and the night thickens ; but there is still no mist 
upon the sea. Towards two in the morning the lead 
tells that they are nearing shore. Then the pilot gives 
orders to " slow down the engines," a breathless silence 
prevails, every eye is on the watch, every ear on the 
alert, and, momentarily expecting to catch their first 
glimpse of the blockading squadron, they steal slowly 
and cautiously on their way. 

And now the sense of time becomes suddenly re- 
versed. Up to this point the hours have gone by like 
minutes ; but now the minutes go by like hours. 
Beacons there are none to guide them, for the harbor 
lights have all been abolished since the arrival of the 
Federal ships outside the bar ; but those on board begin 
to ask themselves whether some outline of the coast 
ought not, ere this, to be visible. 



RUNNING THE BLOCKADE 20$ . 

Still the Stormy Petrel creeps on, still each fresh 
sounding brings her into shallower water, still those 
eager watchers stare into the darkness, knowing that 
the tide will turn and the dawn be drawing on ere long, 
and that after sunrise neither speed nor skill can save 
them. 

At length, when suspense is sharpened almost to pain 
there comes into sight a faint, indefinite something 
which presently resolves itself into the outline of a 
large vessel lying at anchor with her head to the wind 
and a faint spark of light at her prow. 

The pilot slaps his thigh triumphantly. 

"That ar's the senior officer's ship," he whispers. 
'' She lies just tew miles off the mouth o' Charleston 
bar, an' she's bound, yer see, to show a light to her own 
cruisers. Zounds, now if we ain't fixed it uncommon 
tidy this time ! " 

And now, not one by one, but, as it were, simultane- 
ously, the whole line of blockaders comes into sight, 
some to the right, some to the left of that which shows 
the light. Of these they count six besides the flagship, 
all under way and gliding slowly, almost imperceptibly, 
to and fro in the darkness. 

Between some two of these the blockade-runner must 
make her final run. 



206 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

Steam is again got up to the highest pressure, and 
the Stormy Petrel rushes on at full speed. Then the^ 
two ships between which lies her perilous path grow 
momentarily clearer and nearer, and a dark ridge of 
coast becomes dimly visible beyond them. 

And now the supreme moment is at hand. Straight 
and fast the vessel flies, her propellers throbbing furi- 
ously, like a pulse at high fever, and the water hissing 
past her bows. Now every man on board holds his 
breath. Now flagship and cruiser (the one about half a 
mile to the right, the other about half a mile to the 
left) lie out a few hundred yards ahead ; how, for the 
briefest second, the Stormy Petrel is in a line with both ; 
now, all at once she is in the midst of a current and 
rushing straight at that long white ridge of boiling surf 
which marks the position of the bar.! 

'' By Jove ! " says the captain, drawing a long breath, 
*' we've done it." 

'' Don't yer make tew sartin, cap'n, till we're over the 
bar," replies the pilot. '*We ain't out o' gunshot range 
yet awhile." 

Over the bar they are, however, ere long, safe and 
successful. 

And now the steam whistle is blown twice, shrill and 
fearlessly, and two white lights are hung out over the 



RUNNING THE BLOCKADE 20/ 

bows of the vessel, for their pilot has been in before, 
and knows the signals necessary to be observed inside 
the cordon. Were these signals neglected, they would 
be fired upon by the Confederate forts. 

And now, too, lights are lit, and tongues are loosened, 
and even the captain unbends for once, promising the 
men a double allowance of grog. A long irregular line 
of coast has meanwhile emerged into the gray of dawn ; 
and just as the first flush of crimson streams up the 
eastern sky, the Stormy Petrel casts anchor under the 
sand-bag batteries of Morris Island. 



208 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 



XXXVI 

BOYS IN THE LATE WAR 

[Gen. Horace Porter in the ^"^ Youth'' s Compatiiony^ 

When a call for troops was made at the outbreak of 
the war, Young America exhibited himself in his most 
combative form. Youngsters were the first to enlist, 
they poured in upon the recruiting officers in swarms 
like bees ; when too short they strained and stretched 
to reach the standard of height, and often added a few 
imaginary years to their lives so as not to be rejected 
on account of age. 

They were afterwards as eager to get at the enemy 
as they had been to reach the recruiting sergeant, and 
many a mere lad was much more conspicuous for his 
bravery than were his elders. 

During one of the battles in front of Petersburg, an 
infantry regiment on a part of the line which had been 
hard pressed for hours by the enemy began to fall back. 
The men were becoming more and more demoralized, 
the color sergeant, who carries the flag in battle, had 
been killed, the flag had fallen to the ground, and there 
was serious danger of matters running into a panic. 



BOYS IN THE LATE WAR 209 

At this moment, a smooth-faced lad, a mere boy in 
appearance, snatched up the flag, waved it over his 
head, cried out to his comrades not to desert their 
colors, and then with a firm and cheery voice started up 
the song, ** Rally round the flag, boys ! " 

As his clear, ringing tones rose above the din of bat- 
tle, his comrades faced about one after another, caught 
up the strains of the soldiers' song, and soon the whole 
line was charging into the enemy with such effect that 
it swept everything before it, and victory was snatched 
from defeat. 

It seemed the work of inspiration, and the oldest 
heads in the regiment might have been proud to do the 
work of the boy who that day had made himself their 
leader. He was made a sergeant at once for his gal- 
lantry. 

In an assault on the works which had been con- 
structed around Vicksburg for its defence, a young man 
belonging to a Western regiment, who seemed to be 
one of the youngest soldiers in the ranks, pushed ahead 
with great dash, until he got some distance in advance 
of the others. 

The assault was unsuccessful, and the troops were 
compelled to fall back. The young man soon found 
himself left in a Confederate outwork, with about half 



2IO STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

a dozen of the enemy. 4Before they could make an 
effort to take him prisoner he aimed his musket at them 
and ordered them to file off in the direction of the 
Union lines. 

They were so completely taken aback by the bold- 
ness and suddenness of the act, that they offered no 
effectual resistance, and he triumphantly marched them 
into camp as prisoners. 

The circumstance was reported to the commanding 
general, and the affair was soon the talk of the camps. 

General Grant thought this was the kind of material 
that should have a permanent place in the army, and he 
was successful in getting the young man a cadetship at 
West Point. 

His mental capacity seemed to be equal to his cour- 
age, and he was graduated from that institution with 
distinguished honors and given a commission in the 
Engineer Corps of the army. 

Young men have much more to contend against 
physically in war than their elders. The constitution is 
not matured, the system is much more susceptible to 
malarial influences, and they are apt to " break down " 
sooner under loss of sleep, over-fatigue, inferior food, 
and the general hardships to which troops must always 
expect to be subjected during an active campaign. 



BOYS IN THE LATE WAR 211 

In the Army of the Cumberland, a little pale-faced 
fellow had joined the cavalry, and it is pretty certain 
that the recruiting officer who enlisted him had to give 
him the benefit of a doubt both as to age and height, in 
order that he might come up to the requirements of the 
regulations. 

He was hardly equal to the work of serving with his 
regiment, and was detailed as an "orderly" at head- 
quarters to carry messages or to hold the horses of the 
staff officers. 

At the battle of Chickamauga, while he was behav- 
ing with great coolness, he was struck by a bullet in the 
side of the neck. He fell from his horse and was left 
on the field for dead. 

Twenty years afterwards a gentlemanly-looking man 
stepped up to me in a hotel where I was staying, and 
asked me if I remembered the little orderly who was 
shot at Chickamauga. I said yes, that! recollected the 
circumstances of his death very well. 

He then turned his head to one side, showed me a 
deep groove in his neck, and went on to tell me that he 
was the person, that a surgeon had come across him on 
the field, had stopped the bleeding, and succeeded in 
having him carried to a hospital, that his memory had 
left him for two years so that he could scarcely recall 



212 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

his own name, but he then ixcovered all his mental powers 
and became perfectly well. 

I found he was a very successful business man, and 
amongst other enterprises was conducting a large cattle 
interest in the West. His suddenly turning up in the 
corridors of a hotel, so many years after his supposed 
death, seemed like the entrance of an apparition. 

The youngest class of enlisted persons in the army 
were drummer boys. These little fellows suffered a 
great deal from wounds and still more from disease. 
The hospifals always contained a large percentage of 
them, but they were generally cheerful and plucky, and 
after all showed more endurance than most people 
would imagine. 

They always kept up with the men on the march, 
though they had to take a good many more steps, and 
the drum they carried was no small incumbrance in get- 
ting over fences and working their way through the 
tangled undergrowth of forests. 

During the battle of the Wilderness, one of these 
little fellows was seen coming out of the woods with an 
ugly wound in his arm, and carrying a musket he had 
evidently secured for the occasion, for drummers do not 
carry guns. 

Going up to a staff officer who was riding to the front, 



BOYS IN THE LATE WAR 213 

the boy cried out to him, " I say, colonel, can you tell 
me where there's a field hospital ? " 

" Right down the road, half a mile in rear," replied 
the officer. '' You seem to be badly hurt." 

** Oh, this ain't nothing ! " said the boy, with the cool- 
ness of a veteran. '' If I can strike a hospital I'll soon 
get this arm fixed up, and come back and have another 
crack at the 'Johnnies.' I've been fightin' them now 
nigh two years, and I'll just bet you that in that time 
I've killed more of 'em than they ever have of me." • 

Drummers were always handy little fellows on the field. 
When they were not required to play with the bands 
or beat the "calls," they would help to attend to the 
wounded, and carry messages when the men could not 
be spared from the ranks for these duties. 

While they played a good many pranks, got into no 
end of scrapes, and often made life miserable for the 
drum-majors whose duty it was to discipline them, they 
did many an act that commanded the highest admira- 
tion of their officers. 

When General Sherman's corps was advancing upon 
Jackson, Miss., in the campaign in the rear of Vicks- 
burg, and his troops were engaged in a sharp fight with 
the enemy, the general heard a shrill voice calling out to 
him that one of the regiments was out of ammunition, 



214 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

and the men could not hola their position unless a sup- 
ply of cartridges was sent to them at once. 

He looked around and saw that the messenger was a 
little drummer boy who was limping along the road 
with the blood running from a wound in his leg. 

''All right," said the general, "I'll send the ammuni- 
tion ; but you seem to be badly hurt, and you must go 
and find a surgeon and get your wound attended to." 

The boy started for the rear, and the general was 
about giving the order for the ammunition, when he 
heard the same piping voice crying to him, " General, 
calibre fifty-eight ! calibre fifty-eight ! Be sure and 
send them calibre fifty-eight ! " 

Looking round he saw that the little fellow had turned 
back and was running after him as fast as the wound in 
his leg would let him, to describe the kind of ammuni- 
tion required, which he had forgotten to mention before. 

The various regiments were armed with several dif- 
ferent sizes of guns. In this one the diameter of the 
gun barrels was fifty-eight hundredths of an inch, and 
the ammunition required to fit them was known as 
calibre fifty-eight. 

The general found the boy was more thoughtful than 
himself, for he had not stopped to inquire of the lad 
the kind of ammunition needed. He asked the boy his 



BOYS IN THE LATE WAR 21$ 

name, complimented him on his coolness and pluck, and 
promised to remember his services. 

The ammunition reached the men, the boy's wound 
soon healed up, and after the war the general, who has 
never forgotten the incident, interested himself in the 
lad's behalf, and procured for him an appointment to the 
Naval Academy at Annapolis. 

Not long ago General Sherman was repeating the 
story, and the circumstances seemed to be as fresh in 
his memory as on the day on which the service was 
performed. 



2l6 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 



XXXVII 

HOW THEY LIVED IN THE SOUTH DURING THE WAR 

Before the war, the Southern people were engaged 
almost exclusively in producing cotton, sugar, molasses, 
and a few other staple articles, and depended on Europe 
and the Northern States for manufactured goods. 
Hence, during the war they felt greatly the need of 
such articles as cloth, paper, leather, and household 
utensils. All sorts of ways were devised to supply 
these. 

The wife of a Southern general wrote lately an amus- 
ing account of the devices of the Virginian ladies to 
clothe themselves. Homespun flannel was dyed gray 
with ivy, purple with maple bark, and green with peach 
bark. Ball dresses were made of mosquito netting and 
brocade curtains. 

At a time when a pair of boots cost four hundred dol- 
lars and a lawn dress two hundred dollars, they grew 
skilful in making neat gaiters out of bits of cloth and 
canvas, and in weaving picturesque hats for themselves, 



IN THE SOUTH DURING THE WAR 21 7 

their husbands, and brothers, out of corn shucks. 
Chicken and geese feathers were made, too, into deli- 
cate artificial flowers. 

Old-fashioned looms were set up, and ladies wove 
homespun cloth in their homes. Cotton cloths were 
easily made, but wool was scarce, and the fur of rabbits 
and other animals was often used 'instead of it. A lady 
in South Carolina made very handsome cloths with a 
warp of cotton and a filling of coon's fur. Leather was 
difBcult to make, so many substitutes for it were de- 
vised. It is said that very good shoes were made out 
of old wool hats, and soft shoes for ladies from squirrel- 
skins. Wooden shoes were made sometimes, the soles 
being made of gum wood and the uppers of leather. 
Soles for boots were made out of saddle-skirts, leather 
machine-belts, and double thicknesses of heavy cloth 
with thin pieces of white oak, hickory, or birch bark 
between them. 

Paper was scarce and very costly. Much ingenuity 
was exercised to find some substitute for it. News- 
papers were printed on straw paper and paper hangings. 
Brown paper and wall paper took the place of ordinary 
letter paper. Some of the books published at the South 
during v/ar times are curiosities in the art of book- 
making. 



2l8 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

** There are many little things in which our daily life 
is changed," said the wife of a Confederate general, 
*'many luxuries cut off from the table which we have 
forgotten to miss. Our mode of procuring necessaries 
is very different and far more complicated. The condi- 
tion of our currency has brought about many curious 
results; for instance, I have just procured leather, for 
our negro-shoes, by exchanging tallow for it, of which 
we had a quantity from some fine beeves, fattened and 
killed upon the place. 

*' I am now bargaining with a factory up the coun- 
try, to exchange pork and lard with them for blocks of 
yarn to weave negro-clothes ; and not only negro-cloth- 
ing I have woven, I am now dyeing thread to weave 
homespun for myself and daughters. I have ravelled 
all the old scraps of fine worsteds and dark silks, to 
spin thread for gloves for the general and self, which 
gloves I am to knit. These home-knit gloves and these 
homespun dresses will look much neater and nicer than 
you would suppose. My daughters and I being in want 
of under-garments, I sent a quantity of lard to the 
Macon factory, and received in return fine unbleached 
calico — a pound of lard paying for a yard of cloth. 
They will not sell their cloth for money. This un- 
bleached calico my daughters and self are now making 



IN THE SOUTH DURING THE WAR 219 

up for ourselves. You see some foresight is necessary 
to provide for the necessaries of life. 

" If I were to describe the cutting and altering of old 
things to make new, which now perpetually go on, I 
should far outstep the limits of a letter — perhaps I have 
done so already — but I thought this sketch would 
amuse you, and give you some idea of our Confederate 
ways and means of living and doing. At Christmas I 
sent presents to my relatives in Savannah, and instead 
of the elegant trifles I used to give at that season, I be- 
stowed as follows : several bushels of meal, peas, bacon, 
lard, eggs, sausages, soap (home-made), rope, string, and 
a coarse basket ! all which articles, I am assured, were 
most warmly welcomed, and more acceptable than 
jewels and silks would have been. To all of this we 
are so familiarized that we laugh at these changes in 
our ways of life, and keep our regrets for graver things." 

Before the close of the Civil War the Confederate 
currency had depreciated to such an extent that gold 
was at more than twelve thousand per cent premium, 
and the prices of all articles of trade had risen accord- 
ingly. The situation was similar to that in the colonies 
before independence was acknowledged, when it used 
to be said : *' Before the war we went to market with 
the money in our pockets, and brought back our pur- 



220 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

chases in a basket ; now we take the money in the bas- 
ket, and bring the things home in our pocket." 

A Southerner writes of the situation in the Confed- 
eracy : " Matters must have been at a pretty pass when 
quinine sold at two thousand dollars an ounce, and a 
soldier paid a negro boy two hundred dollars for watch- 
ing his horse while he ate his dinner." 

A cavalry officer, entering a little country store, found 
there one pair of boots which fitted him. He inquired 
the price. 

"Two hundred dollars," said the merchant. 

A five-hundred-dollar bill was offered, but the mer- 
chant, having no smaller bills, could not change it. 

** Never mind," said the cavalier, " I'll take the boots 
anyhow. Keep the change ; I never let a little matter 
of three hundred dollars stand in the way of a trade." 

Articles raised on the plantations were reasonably 
cheap. Thus wood could be bought for fifteen dollars 
a cord, and turkeys sold for ten dollars apiece. Luxu- 
ries were very high, and only the richest people could 
afford them. 

Every appeal of the Southern generals to the people 
for aid was bravely answered by the women of the South. 
Blankets and overcoats were made for the soldiers at 
the front from carpets taken up from the floors of hotels 



IN THE SOUTH DURING THE WAR 221 

and private houses. Beds were stripped of coverings, 
and rooms of rugs and curtains, and these were duly 
sent to the suffering soldiers enduring the miseries of a 
winter campaign in Virginia. Such were the straits and 
ingenious expedients to which the people of the South 
were driven during the long and bitter years of the 
war. 



222 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

XXXVIII 

FOES BECOME FRIENDS 

Even in the fiercest heat of the war for the Union, 
Americans did not forget that they were brothers. 
Veteran soldiers remember it now with more sincerity, 
because they fought more than a quarter of a century 
ago for a cause which they deemed the right. Many 
incidents of individual experiences of the war have 
been published of late years. The main point in all 
such incidents is the eagerness with which the kindness 
of soldiers on the other side is extolled. 

There is much in these incidents which may seem 
sentimental to the generation which was born after the 
war. But to Americans who remember how mighty 
were the interests involved in it, and how desperate 
was the struggle, these signs of the deep cordial peace 
which now exists between the North and South have a 
most pathetic and lofty meaning. 

Only men who could nobly risk their fortunes and 
their love for a cause they held to be right could clasp 
hands when the struggle was over with forgiveness so 
true and complete. 



FOES BECOME FRIENDS. 223 

Let US read of a few such incidents told by veteran 
soldiers of both sides at the annual reunions. 



A private in a New Jersey regiment took part in a 
skirmish in which he was shot in the ankle, and again 
by a minie ball under the shoulder-blade, through the 
right lung. He was left for dead on the field. When 
he revived, he was surrounded by the Confederates. 
He lay for hours in an agony of pain and thirst, but 
summoned courage at last to ask a young lad for a 
drink. 

The boy put his hand on his bayonet, saying, " I 
would liefer give you this," and passed on. Then sud- 
denly turning, he said, " We are not as bad as you think 
us," and, stooping, gently lifted the head of the wounded 
man, and put a canteen to his lips. 

A battery was placed near to where he lay, and one 
of the gunners, a man from Alabama, propped him up 
on his own blanket, brought a bucket of water and put 
it within reach, and came to him several times during 
the night to change his position. The next day a 
Southern doctor cut off his leg ; he was carried to the 
hospital in Fredericksburg, and there was nursed by 
the good women of the town, one of whom he after- 
wards married. 



224 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

At the reunion in GettysliR'g, a few years ago, of the 
old soldiers from the North and South, who had fought 
against each other on that battle-field, many touching 
little incidents occurred that showed how cordial was 
the good-feeling now existing between the former 
enemies. 

"Just here," said a crippled New-Yorker, stopping on 
the corner of a field, ''my leg was shot off." 

*' And just here," said a man beside him, the sleeve 
of whose gray coat hung empty, " I lost my arm." 

The two men became friends at once, pitched a tent 
on the spot that had been so eventful to both, and there 
"kept house" together during the whole time of the 
reunion. Each found the other to be a man of sense, 
high principle, and good-feeling. They will probably 
remain friends for life. 

So many of the once bitter foes exchanged coats, 
canteens, and knapsacks, in token of good-will, that it 
became almost impossible to distinguish Northern from 
Southern soldiers. They pitched their tents together, 
most of the men preferring to camp again, instead of 
going to the hotels, in order that they might meet their 
old antagonists more freely, and dis.cuss every incident 
of the battle, about the bivouac fires. 

A Northern officer brought to Gettysburg a sword. 



FOES BECOME FRIENDS 225 

gold-handled and set with jewels, which he had taken 
from a young Southerner. After the war was over he 
had tried in vain to restore it. He now gave it to the 
commandant of the corps to which its owner belonged, 
in the hope that it might reach him at last. 

A large man and a very small one met on the street. 

''I think I have seen you before," said the small 
man. 

" Yes, I took you prisoner," was the reply. Where- 
upon they shook hands heartily, took dinner together, 
and the next day brought a photographer to the spot 
where they had fought, and had their pictures taken 
standing with uncovered heads and clasped hands. 

An old Pennsylvania farmer, after reading an account 
of this celebration at Gettysburg, in which both Union 
and Confederate soldiers bore a part, said, '* I went to 
Gettysburg the night after the battle in 1863, and helped 
to bury the dead. 

" One lad, I remember, in a gray uniform, whom we 
dragged from under a heap of dead bodies, was still 
breathing. He was but a pretty, chubby-faced school- 
boy. We brought the surgeon, and worked with him 
for an hour, but it was too late, he was too far gone to 
feel the probe. He turned uneasily, smiling and mut- 



226 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

tering something, which snowed that he thought he was 
back at home, 

'' ' Mother ! dear mother ! ' he said, and tried to lift 
his arms. Then came the fearful choking, and he was 
dead. 

" Close beside him was the body of a private, belong- 
ing to the Sixty-eighth Pennsylvania. He was a young, 
firmly built man, with a face which, even in death, was 
gentle and kindly. His sunburned skin and horny 
hands showed him to have been a farmer. 

"In his breast pocket we found a letter from * Jenny,' 
with a few words about the crops and the poultry ; but 
the letter was mainly *Baby,* its doings and sayings, 
and at the bottom v/as a great blot made by Baby's own 
hand. 

" Next his heart was a little photograph of a sweet- 
faced girl and a child, evidently Jenny and the baby. 

*' We buried the two men side by side. 

''The blue and gray coated soldiers, the other day, 
were talking, and laughing, and fraternizing together 
over their graves, and near by, the corner-stone of a 
church, dedicated to the ' Prince of Peace,' was laid. 

" But it seemed to me as if those two gallant boys who 
fought against one another here, each for a cause which 
he deemed just, must have long ago met elsewhere, and 



FOES BECOME FRIENDS 22/ 

recognized each other as friends, and soldiers under one 
Captain." 

The reception at Atlanta, in the fall of i88r, of the 
hero of the "March through Georgia," was a striking 
example of the generosity and warm-hearted forgetful- 
ness of the Southern people. A Southern writer 
pleads for a better understanding with these people, 
with whom we were once at war, and draws the follow- 
ing vivid sketch of General Sherman's two visits to 
Atlanta : — 

"He was at Atlanta once — and he looked the city 
over. I may say he felt it over. He made the ac- 
quaintance of its citizens, and its citizens made his 
acquaintance. The acquaintance may be said to have 
been mutual if not cordial. It was a decidedly warm 
acquaintance. When that stern commander got through 
with the city it looked with its bare and blackened 
chimneys like a forest of girdlings. Not a building of 
consequence was left. 

" Seventeen years go by, and the man at whose order 
the city of Atlanta went up in smoke to come down in 
ashes, is invited by the authorities of the Exposition, a 
majority of whom were citizens of Atlanta, to return to 
that city as a guest. 



22b STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

*' I said to myself, How \4H they receive him as they 
remember their beautiful homes, their business blocks, 
their churches reduced to ashes, their city which on one 
day stood fair and beautiful as a bride in the light, and 
which on the next was a heap of shapeless ruins ? 

"I secured my seat early and near the stand in the 
judges' hall, that I might study the problem of contending 
emotions, this phenomenon of a people rising superior 
to their prejudices and even to their very memories. 
For half an hour the people filed in till the hall was 
packed. I overheard the conversation which went on 
about me. One man from Louisville declared it was 
adding insult to injury — Sherman's return to Atlanta. 
Two others immediately took him to task. They said 
to him, — 

*' ' Do not talk in that way. We live here. Sherman 
burned our property ; but he did it in the heat of war. 
While war lasted we fought him ; but the war is over, 
and General Sherman has come here to-day as the guest 
of Atlanta.' 

" Presently the hero entered with his comrades of the 
Mexican War, many of them former generals of the Con- 
federate army. Instantly there was an ovation of ap- 
plause and waving of handkerchiefs. But I said, * This 
may be intended for the Southern generals.' The speech 



FOES BECOME FRIENDS 229 

was made and the exercises were about to close, when 
from all parts of the house there arose one universal 
and prolonged cry of ' Sherman ! Sherman ! Sher- 
man ! ' And when he stepped from his place among 
his comrades and mounted the stand, the applause arose 
to a deafening roar. 

"'I said, 'This is one of the grandest displays of 
magnanimity to a former foe that the world has ever 
witnessed.' " 



230 ' STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 



XXXIX 

THE BLUE AND THE GRAY 

{^Frauds Miles Finck.^ 

This poem is founded upon an incident that occurred at Columbus, Miss., on 
Memorial Day, 1867, when flowers were strewn upon the graves of Confederate 
and Federal soldiers alike. 

By the flow of the inland river, 

Whence the fleets of iron have fled, 
Where the blades of the grave-grass quiver, 
Asleep are the ranks of the dead ; 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day ; 
Under the one, the Blue; 
Under the other, the Gray. 

These, in the robings of glory, 

Those, in the gloom of defeat, 
All with the battle-blood gory. 
In the dusk of eternity meet ; 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day; 
Under the laurel, the Blue ; 
•Under the willow, the Gray. 



THE BLUE AND THE GRAY 23 1 

From the silence of sorrowful hours 

The desolate mourners go, 
Lovingly laden with flowers 

Alike for the friend and the foe ; 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day ; 
Under the roses, the Blue ; 
Under the lilies, the Gray. 

So, with an equal splendor, 

The morning sun-rays fall, 
With a touch impartially tender, 
On the blossoms blooming for all ; 
Under the sod and the dew. 

Waiting the judgment day ; 
Broidered with gold, the Blue ; 
Mellowed with gold, the Gray. 

So, when the summer calleth. 
On forest and field of grain, 
With an equal murmur falleth 
The cooling drip of the rain ; 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day ; 
Wet with the rain, the Blue ; 
Wet with the rain, the Gray. 



232 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

Sadly, but not with upbraiding, 

The generous deed was done ; 
In the storm of the years that are fading. 
No braver battle was won ; 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day; 
Under the blossoms, the Blue ; 
Under the garlands, the Gray. 

No more shall the war-cry sever. 
Or the winding rivers be red ; 
They banish our anger forever, 

When they laurel the graves of our dead. 
Under the sod and the dew. 

Waiting the judgment day ; 
Love and tears for the Blue ; 
Tears and love for the Gray. 







UNION SOLDIERS RALLYING ROUND THE FLAG. 



BRAVE MEN WHO FOUGHT FOR THE UNION r 233 



XL 

THE BRAVE MEN WHO FOUGHT FOR THE UNION 
[From GerrisK's '■^Reminiscences of the War."] 

Nearly a generation has passed away since the break- 
ing out of the war, and many of those now living know 
but little of the soldier's sacrifices. These should not 
be forgotten ; the nation cannot afford to have them 
blotted out. They sacrificed for a time all the domestic 
relations of life. This may appear to some as a very 
small sacrifice to make. But ask that man who, on that 
eventful morning, kissed his wife good-by, and pressed 
his little child to his breast for the last time, as he 
shouldered his knapsack and marched away ; or ask the 
smooth-faced lad who went forth to battle, with his 
mother's kiss damp upon his brow ; and they will tell 
you of a fearful experience that raged within their hearts. 
This is one of the greatest sacrifices that men can be 
called upon to make for the country, and none but patri- 
otic men can make it. They sacrificed the conveniences 
and comforts of home for the inconveniences and suf- 
ferings of the field. No army was ever marshalled 



234 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

upon the globe, that left iRh homes of comfort and 
luxury as did the Union army, in the war of the rebel- 
lion. They exchanged the mansion of comfort for the 
miserable shelter tent ; the soft, clean bed, for a sol- 
dier's blanket spread upon the hard ground ; good, 
wholesome food, for the scanty rations of a soldier ; lives 
of ease and healthy labor, for the exhaustion and weari- 
ness of forced marches ; they threw aside for a period 
of years the personal liberty so dear to every American 
citizen, and took upon themselves a species of slavery, 
to be commanded by other men who were frequently 
their inferiors in all save military rank. They exchanged 
a life of comparative safety for one filled with a thou- 
sand dangers ; they stepped forth from the peaceful 
circles of safety, within which so many remained, and 
boldly stood forth in the way where death passed by ; 
and there bravely battled for the principles of liberty 
and justice. All these sacrifices were made for the sal- 
vation of the Republic. 

These men suffered without complaint. What a les- 
son may be learned from their example ! I wonder if 
the young people of our day ever stop to think how 
much their fathers and grandfathers who fought the 
battles of the Union suffered, sleeping on the hard, 
frozen ground, the cold winds sweeping over them, with 



BRAVE MEN WHO FOUGHT FOR THE UNION 235 

nothing but their thin, ragged clothing to protect them 
from the elements, marching barefooted over the rough 
roads where their tracks were stained with blood that 
flowed from their lacerated feet, weary and exhausted, 
famishing with hunger when the government had no 
bread to give them ; lying for days on the battle-fields 
between the contending lines, with broken limbs and 
mangled bodies, the sun pouring its deadly rays upon 
them, without food, their lips and throats parching with 
thirst, no medical aid, and their gaping wounds fester- 
ing in the intense heat. All this they endured without 
murmuring, to preserve the Union. What an example 
they have set for us to follow ! The patient sufferings 
of our soldiers through those four yeaoB of war should 
be held up as object lessons before our American youth, 
for all the years to come, that their hearts may be 
moulded in the same patriotic love and devotion for the 
country's welfare. 

Our soldiers were brave men, and faced dangers fear- 
lessly. The nation, I fear, is forgetting those deeds of 
bravery too rapidly. If we could only pass along those 
battle lines once more, and gather up those feats of in- 
dividual daring, so many of which occurred in every 
regiment — deeds, which, if they had been performed 
in the Spartan wars, or in the days of the Crusaders, 



236 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR ' 

or of Napoleon the First, wuld have been recorded on 
the pages of history, and would thrill the passing gen- 
erations as they read ! I wish we could gather up the 
unwritten history of the war — the deeds that were per- 
formed by heroes whose names were never known out- 
side the ranks where they fought, or the beloved circle 
of friends at home, and which, if preserved, would fill 
volumes. These soldiers were as modest as they were 
brave, and many of them have never spoken of the wild 
adventures through which they passed, or of the nar- 
row escapes, the hand-to-hand encounters which they 
experienced, or of the shot and shells that went tear- 
ing past them, so near that the slightest deviation 
from their onward course would have caused their 
death. These events are locked up within their own 
breasts, cherished as sacred reminders of God's provi- 
dence in preserving their lives. But some evening, as 
you sit beside some maimed hero, draw him forth from 
his seclusion, get him to unfold that secret chapter of 
his life, and as he proceeds with that wonderful narra- 
tive, you will decide that I have not exaggerated when I 
have claimed that the soldiers who fought for the Union 
were brave men. 



MEMORIAL DAY ^3/ 

XLI 

MEMORIAL DAY 

How dear to the hearts of the American people is 
Memorial Day, one of the red-letter days of the year. 
It began in the South. A few mourning women assem- 
bled each year to lay flowers on the graves of their dead. 
The custom soon became general in both South and 
North. It may be that during the first few years bitter- 
ness and animosity towards the living mingled with the 
honors given to the dead. But sectional enmity faded 
out of the hearts of both conquerors and conquered 
long ago. For a few years it seemed as if Decoration 
Day, as it was first called, would be given over to stump 
speeches, athletic sports, regattas, and frivolous amuse- 
ments generally. The sad anniversary of mourning 
threatened to become a noisy echo of the Fourth of 
July. The decency and right feeling of the people, 
however, has checked this tendency, and restored the 
day to its sacred purpose. With each year, too, the 
wish has been more widely expressed that not only 
the graves of soldiers, but of all the heroic dead, should 
be honored. 



238 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

How dear to every one, ^th old and young, are the 
familiar ceremonies of this sacred anniversary ! Year 
by year, the ranks of the gray-haired and grizzled vet- 
erans become thinner as they march on Memorial Day, 
with faltering steps, in the ranks of the Grand Army of 
the Republic. The beautiful and pathetic ceremonies 
of the day are now celebrated in every nook and corner 
of our broad land. It is exceedingly appropriate that 
school children should collect the flowers, sing their 
beautiful songs, and decorate the graves of the heroic 
dead. It will remind them in the most impressive man- 
ner how their fathers and grandfathers fought the bat- 
tles of their country. 

A number of years ago, a famous orator, and a 
brave officer during the war, was called upon to address 
the veteran soldiers on Memorial Day in Indianapolis. 
The following eloquent passage from his oration can 
be read and re-read many times, and one will not tire of 
it. Its stirring patriotism is only exceeded by its ten- 
der pathos and vivid imagery. 

" The past rises before me like a dream. Again we 
are in the great struggle for national life. We hear the 
sounds of preparation — the music of the boisterous 
drums — the silver voices of heroic bugles. We see 
thousands of assemblages, and hear the appeals of ora- 



MEMORIAL DAY 239 

tors ; we see the pale cheeks of women, and the flushed 
faces of men ; and in those assemblages we see all the 
dead whose dust we have covered with flowers. We 
lose sight of them no more. We are with them when 
they enlist in the great army of freedom. We see 
them part from those they love. Some are walking for 
the last time in quiet woody places with the maidens 
they adore. We hear the whisperings and the sweet 
vows of eternal love as they lingeringly part forever. 
Others are bending over cradles, kissing babies that are 
asleep. Some are receiving the blessings of old men. 
Some are parting, who hold them and press them to 
their hearts again and again, and say nothing; and 
some are talking with wives, and endeavoring with 
brave words, spoken in the old tones, to drive from their 
hearts the awful fear. We see them part. We see 
the wife standing in the door, with the babe in her 
arms — standing in the sunlight, sobbing — at the 
turn of the road a hand waves — she answers by 
holding high in her loving hands the child. He is 
gone, and forever. 

" We see them all as they march proudly away under 
the flaunting flags, keeping time to the wild, grand 
music of war — marching down the streets of the great 
cities — through the towns and across the prairies — 



240 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

down to the fields of glo^p^ to do and to die for the 
eternal right. 

''We go with them one and all. We are by their side 
on all the gory fields, in all the hospitals of pain, on all 
the weary marches. We stand guard with them in the 
wild storm and under the quiet stars. We are with 
them in ravines running with blood, in the furrows of 
old fields. We are with them between contending: 
hosts, unable to move, wild with thirst, the life ebbing 
slowly away among the withered leaves. We see them 
pierced by balls and torn with shells in the trenches by 
forts, and in the whirlwind of the charge, where men 
become iron, with nerves of steel. 

*' We are with them in the prisons of hatred and fam- 
ine ; but human speech can never tell what they endured. 

" We are at home when the news comes that they are 
dead. We see the maiden in the shadow of her first 
sorrow. We see the silvered head of the old man bowed 
with the last grief. 

"The past rises before us, and we see four millions of 
human beings governed by the lash ; we see them bound 
hand and foot ; we hear the strokes of cruel whips ; we 
see the hounds tracking women through tangled swamps. 
We see babes sold from the breasts of mothers. Cruelty 
unspeakable ! Outrage infinite ! 



MEMORIAL DAY 24I 

" Four million bodies in chains — four million souls 
in fetters. All the sacred relations of wife, mother, 
father, and child, trampled beneath the brutal feet of 
might. And all this was done under our own beautiful 
banner of the free. 

" The past rises before us. We hear the roar and 
shriek of the bursting shell. The broken fetters fall. 
These heroes died. We look. Instead of slaves we 
see men, and women, and children. The wand of prog- 
ress touches the auction-block, the slave-pen, the 
whipping-post, and we see homes and firesides, and 
school-houses and books, and where all was want and 
crime and cruelty and fetters, we see the faces of the 
free. 

** These heroes are dead. They died for liberty — 
they died for us. They are at rest." 



242 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR. 



XLII 

ODE FOR MEMORIAL DAY 

Bring flowers to strew again 

With fragrant purple rain 

Of lilacs, and of roses white and red, 

The dwellings of our dead, our glorious dead ! 

Let the bells ring a solemn funeral chime, 

And wild war music bring anew the time 

When they who sleep beneath 

Were full of vigorous breath. 
And in their lusty manhood sallied forth. 

Holding in strong right hand 

The fortunes of the land, 
The pride and power and safety of the North ! 
It seems but yesterday 
The long and proud array — 
But yesterday when even the solid rock 
Shook as with earthquake shock, — 
As North and South, like two huge icebergs, ground 
Asfainst each other with convulsive bound. 



ODE FOR MEMORIAL DAY 243 

And the whole world stood still 

To view the mighty war, 

And hear the thunderous roar, 
While sheeted lightnings wrapped each plain and hill. 

Alas ! how few came back 

From battle and from wrack ! 

Alas ! how many lie 

Beneath a Southern sky, 

Who never heard the fearful fight was done, 

And all they fought for won. 

Sweeter, I think, their sleep. 

More peaceful and more deep, 

Could they but know their wounds were not in vain, 

Could they but hear the grand triumphal strain, 

And see their homes unmarred by hostile tread. 

Ah ! let us trust it is so with our dead — 

That they the thrilling joy of triumph feel. 

And in that joy disdain the foeman's steel. 

We mourn for all, but each doth think of one 

More precious to the heart than aught beside — 
Some father, brother, husband, or some son 

Who came not back, or, coming, sank and died : 
In him the whole sad list is glorified ! 
" He fell 'fore Richmond, in the seven long days 



244 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

When battle raged from morn till blood-dewed eve, 
And lies there," one pale widowed mourner says. 

And knows not most to triumph or to grieve. 
" My boy fell at Fair Oaks," another sighs ; 
"And mine at Gettysburg!" his. neighbor cries. 

And that great name each sad-eyed listener thrills. 
I think of one who vanished when the press 
Of battle surged along the Wilderness, 

And mourned the North upon her thousand hills. 
Yes, bring fresh flowers and strew the soldier's grave, 

Whether he proudly lies 

Beneath our Northern skies. 
Or where the Southern palms their branches wave ! 
Let the bells toll and wild war-music swell, 
And for one day the thought of all the past — 
Of all those memories vast — 
Come back and haunt us with its mighty spell ! 
Bring flowers, then, once again. 
And strew with fragrant rain 
Of lilacs, and of roses white and red, 
The dwellings of our dead. 



SUPPLEMENTARY READING 



The following books will prove of great interest to 
young people who may wish to read about the great 
Civil War. 

1. C. Carleton Coffin's Days and Nights on the Battlefield. 

2. C. Carleton Coffin's Drum-beat of the Nation. 

3. C. Carleton Coffin's Marching to Victory. 

4. C. Carleton Coffin's Redeeming the Republic. 

5. Abbot's Battlefields of '61. 

6. Abbot's Blue Jackets of '61. 

7. Champlin's Young Folks' History of the War for 
the Union. 

8. Goss's Jed. A Boy's Adventures in the Army. 

9. Keiffer's Recollections of a Drummer Boy. 

10. Soley's Sailor Boys of '61. 

11. Williams's Bullet and Shell. 

12. Billings's Hardtack and Coffee. 

13. P. C. Headley's Young Folks' Heroes of the 
Rebellion. 6 volumes: illustrated. Consisting of: Fight it Out on 
this Line ; The Life of General Grant. Facing the Enemy ; The Life of 
General Sherman. Fighting Phil ; The Life of General Sheridan. Old 
Salamander; The Life of Admiral Farragut. The Miner Boy and his 
Monitor; The Career of John Ericsson, Engineer. Old Stars; The Life 
of Major-General O. M. Mitchel. 

14. Battles and Leaders of the Civil War. 3 volumes, with 
hundreds of illustrations. Battles and events described by the great 
generals of the war. An invaluable work of reference for the school 
library 

245 



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Cast Away in the Cold The Prairie Crusoe 

Willis the Pilot The Young Crusoe 

FAMOUS BOY SERIES 4 vols. Illustrated 
The Patriot Boy A popular life of George Washington 
The Bobbin Boy The Early Life of Gen. N. P. Banks 
The Border Boy A popular life of Daniel Boone 
The Piinter Boy or How Ben Franklin made his Mark 

FRONTIER CAMP SERIES 4 vols Illustrated 
The Cabin on the Prairie By Dr. C. H. Pearson 
Planting the Wilderness By James D McCabe Jun. 
The Young Pioneers By Dr. C. H. Pearson 

Twelve Nights in the Hunter's Camp By Rev. Dr. Wilua5« 
Baarows 

GALLANT DEEDS LIBRARY 4 vols. Illustrated 
Great Men and Gallant Deeds By J- G. Edgar 
Yarns of an Old Mariner By Mary Cowden Clarke 
Schoolboy Days By W. H. G. Kingston 
Sand Hills of Jutland By Hans Christian Andersen 

INVINCIBLE LIBRARY 4 vols. Illustrated 
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Battles at Home By Mary G. Darling 
In the World By Mary G. Darling 
Golden Hair By Sir Lascelles Wraxhall Bart. 

LIFE-BOAT SERIES Of Adventures 5 vols Illustrateil 
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NATURAL HISTORY SERIES By Mrs. R. Lee Illus- 
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Noble Deeds of American Gulliver's Travels 
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The Mill-Boy of the Slashes Young Folks' Life of Henry Clay 
The Great Expounder Young Folks Life ol Daniel Webster 

GOOD AND GREAT SERIES 6 vols Illustrated 
Good and Great Msn The Whales W^e Caught 

"Women of W^orth House on Wheels. 

A Quaker among the Indians Inn of the Guardian Angel 

AROUND THE WORLD LIBRARY By Jules Verne 
Round the World in Eighty Days Wreck of the Chancellor 
A Winter in the Ice 
DORA DARLING LIBRARY 
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The Year's Best Days 

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best English cloth bright colors Any volume sold separately 

CHARLEY AND EVA STORIES By Miss L. C. Thurstoh 
How Charley Roberts became a Man 
How Eva Roberts gained her Education 
Home in the West 
Children of Amity Court 

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GOLDEN PROVERB SERIES By Mrs. M. E. Bradley 
and Miss Kate J. Neely 
Birds of a Feather 

Fine Feathers do not make Fine Birds 
Handsome is that Handsome Does 
A Wrong Confessed is Half Redressed 
One Good Turn deserves Another 
Actions Speak Louder than Words 

Two capital story-tellers, "birds of a feather," have flocked together, 
and produced from six old proverbs six as bright and taking story-books 
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GOLDEN RULE STORIES By Mrs. S. C. B. Samuels 
The Golden Rule Nettie's Trial 

The Shipwrecked Girl The Burning Prairie 

Under the Sea The Smuggler's Cave 

CELESTA'S LIBRARY for Boys and Girls 
Celesta A Thousand a Year 

Crooked and Straight Abel Grey 

The Crook Straightened May Coverley 

Mrs. Samuels has written many attractive books. The scenes and 
incidents she portrays are full of life, action, and interest, and decidedly 
wholesome and instructive. 
6ALT-WATER DICK STORIES By May Mannering 
Climbing the Rope The Little Spaniard 

Billy Grimes's Favorite Salt-Water Dick 

Cruise of the Dashaway Little Maid of Oxbow 

Not all tales of the sea, as the title of the series would imply, but stories 
of many lands by a lady who has been a great traveller, and tells what she 
has seen, in a captivating way. 
UPSIDE-DOWN STORIES By Rosa Abbott 
Jack of all Trades Upside Down 

Alexis the Runaway The Young Detective 

Tommy Hickup ^he Pinks and BlUes 

VACATION STORIES for Boys and Girls 6 vols. 

Illustrated 
Worth not Wealth Karl Keigler or The Fortunes 

Country Life of a Foundling 

The Charm Walter Seyton 

Holidays at Chestnut Hill 

GREAT ROSY DIAMOND STORIES for Girls 

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*' This work is an accurate and exceedingly interesting? history of the 
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FIGHTING PHIL The Life of Gen. Philip H. Sheridan, by 

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PERSEVERANCE ISLAND or The Robinson Crusoe of 

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OUR STANDARD-BEARER Oliver Optic's Life of Gen. 

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LIVES OF THE PRESIDENTS From Washington to 

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